


The Other Side

by SneakyBoyMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: #Listen… I did not even bother listing the implied ships, (not merwaine or argwen), :c, Abusive Relationships, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Animal Abuse, Arthur getting told what’s what, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Coercion, Dialogue Heavy, Dissociation, Drinking, F/M, For all intents and purposes this is a Power of Friendship story, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, I will continue adding tags as I see fit, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Interrogation, M/M, Magic Revealed, Male-Female Friendship, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Pining Gwaine (Merlin), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Gwaine (Merlin), Protective Gwen (Merlin), Psychological Trauma, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Victim Blaming, Whump, Wrongful Imprisonment, also there is a brief description of, but it gets resolved so no worries, lots of talking, very minor though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 70,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBoyMerlin/pseuds/SneakyBoyMerlin
Summary: After Gaius’ rescue, it is once again clear that there was only one person in Arthur’s court who had the opportunity to betray him. Unfortunately, Arthur’s state of denial opens up a last resort for his enemies to take over Camelot. And to his neverending dismay, Merlin may be the only one who can do anything about it. AU after 4x07 “The Secret Sharer.”
Relationships: Agravaine/Merlin (Merlin), Gwaine & Gwen (Merlin), Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 142
Kudos: 240





	1. The Root of the Problem

Agravaine sped through the forest, running his horse beyond its natural limits. In normal circumstances he would go under the cover of nightfall, but he couldn’t spare a moment for stealth at a time like this. He needed to return to his mistress at once.

When he reached the sorceress’ hovel, a cavernous thing peeking out between tangles of roots and vines, he dismounted and tied his exhausted horse off to a nearby branch, careful to keep a safe distance from the animal.

“My lady,” he greeted, ducking his head as he entered. Why she chose to reside in a place built so low, he couldn’t guess. The tight structure was nothing short of a foxhole; yet, it was within reason that she would feel more protected here than under the high, artificial ceilings of her enemy city. 

Seated at a small wooden table in the center of the room was the subject of his rambling thoughts, looking detached from the world as she got sometimes. Lost somewhere in her own head, she sat still as a corpse awaiting burial. Her skin shone pale in the daylight and, only for a moment, he wondered if the stems and snags growing out of the topsoil at her feet had come to claim her in death. Forcing away that image, he called for her attention. As he did so, he pulled out the chair opposite her, its legs scraping over the dirt-packed ground and shaking Morgana from her reverie. He was pleased at her sudden awakening, accrediting it to the sound of his own voice.

“Agravaine,” she said without welcome. “I’ve been expecting you.” She would spare him no audience for mere pleasantries: a quality of a true queen, he was sure. 

“I come on an errand of the utmost urgency.” 

She looked up at him expectantly and sank into what Agravaine knew to be a posture of brooding. He must have known her mind well to see such a subtle gesture—this thought, of course, he kept to himself. 

In a quick movement, she set her chin in the palm of her hand, curling her fingers up to just below her lips. If he squinted, he thought they resembled the legs of a feeding spider. 

But he had been silent for too long and Morgana was quickly losing her patience with him. “Well, go on then, fess up.” She didn’t quite snarl, but the sound was venomous nonetheless. “The sooner you admit to your shortcomings, the sooner I can fix them. The least you can do is have the self-respect to acknowledge it.”

He sighed; nothing could get past his lady, or her temper. “It isn’t anything new, I’m afraid. It seems Gaius and his boy have finally compromised my position.”

“So Arthur knows?”

“He already suspected, my lady. Framing Gaius diverted his attention, but we risked much by implying his guilt. With the old man back, the evidence is incriminating.” He laid his palms flat on the table where she sat and leaned in, as close to the high priestess as he dared. “We must act now, or else all we’ve done is to make Camelot more impregnable.”

Morgana turned away from him and scoffed. “I’ve done nothing. I‘ve been confined to this hole lest I risk capture by my own brother! You, however, will answer to your mistakes. Tell me, what exactly do you plan to do about this?”

What could Agravaine do about it?

“We cannot kill Arthur as long as the guard is up,” he reasoned. “Even if we draw him outside of Camelot’s walls, he is still under the protection of this… Emrys.” The name left a bitter taste on his tongue. He licked his lips, but it did nothing to ease him. “There must be some other way to incapacitate him before he can take it to the court.”

“That is, if he hasn’t already.” Morgana said through clenched teeth. At some point, she had started agitatedly pushing back the cuticles of her nails. It occurred to Agravaine that she was probably fretting over him the same way he did for her. The idea warmed him to his core.

He chanced a comforting smile. “You know Arthur; he’ll hesitate, stop to gather his thoughts even when the answer is right in front of him. It’s the perfect opportunity to strike back.” Morgana seemed enchanted by this information—minding the pun, which Agravaine thought terribly clever. 

Morgana’s mood seemed to clear with newfound purpose. “No one can hear of this. Arthur must not be allowed to condemn you.” The severity with which she delivered this message sent a chill ripping through him. 

“What would you have me do, my lady?”

A clever, self-appreciative smile crept slowly across her face. “A man can’t speak without his voice. We can’t trick Arthur, but we can fool everyone else.”

“And what of the serving boy?” By some miracle, Agravaine finally had the chance to prove himself to his lady. He would not let a mere servant foil their plans again.

She looked at him thoughtfully, but merely shrugged. “I’m sure you can think of a way to keep him out of trouble. But Agravaine, you must promise me something.”

“Anything, my lady.”

A crazed glint entered her eyes as her smile grew wide and sharp. Agravaine found himself staring into the maw of a hungry wolf in place of the long-enduring high priestess. 

“However you choose to deal with Merlin… make it painful.”

It was hours later when Agravaine was finally given leave of the hovel. Knowing what needed to be done, he stepped outside, only to find that his horse—and the branch he’d tied it off to—were missing, probably off to find water away from the man who had tried to run it to death. Agravaine wasn’t fazed, though. It was a beautiful day, and he would enjoy the walk back to the doomed city.

___________________________________ 

“Do you really think he’ll listen?” Merlin whispered as he edged closer to Gwen, reaching out subconsciously to fidget with her sleeve.

Gwen didn’t answer yet, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as if it would do anything to relieve the weight on their minds. Arthur had been very reserved ever since he found out there was a traitor in their midst. It was expected that he would be on edge, but what she hadn’t accounted for was his inability to act on those feelings. The answer was glaring—quite literally, as they could see Agravaine’s face while Arthur’s back was turned—but their new king seemed to be oblivious to the man’s deceit. 

It took her a moment to find a response that wasn’t utterly hopeless. “…Eventually, he’ll have to see reason.” She graced Merlin with her most convincing smile, though Merlin saw right through it.

“The council is dismissed,” Arthur announced suddenly, palming his forehead as the other nobles pushed back their chairs and exited the room.

Next to Gwen, Merlin sighed. “I guess it won’t be long before we find out.”

Merlin’s nose had begun twitching erratically as the confrontation drew nearer. Gwen put on another smile for him, one that she hoped was more comforting than forced. Some of the tension seemed to leave Merlin and he returned the gesture with a slight upturn of his lips. Satisfied, Gwen turned back to the situation at hand.

As the nobles made their way into the hall, the two meddling servants found themselves graced with several subtle nods of acknowledgement. This had become a regularity ever since the Dorocha’s onslaught. Merlin had always been favored among those who had witnessed his loyalty to Arthur firsthand, but it was with great surprise that Gwen came to realize the newfound respect the council had bestowed upon her, as if she were an advisor and not a serving girl. She briefly wondered if they distrusted Agravaine, if they were all too grateful for a way out from under his thumb, and if they really did value her advice. Would they listen to her the same way if—when—she became queen? All Merlin had to say about it was that she was queen in all but name and that she’d better get used to it, to which she had flicked his twitchy nose and told him to stay quiet. Predictably, he did not listen.

As she thought back, her smile became more genuine and harder to hold back. With a deep breath, she pushed down against the rush of affection that rose in her chest. There would be time to reminisce later, but it was vital that they speak to Arthur immediately. This time, they would do it together—she wasn’t going to let Merlin stand up against Agravaine alone, never again. That same warmth was returning, against her best interests. This time, it was tinged with no small amount of nervousness—sympathy pains for Merlin, probably. She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts and bit her lip at the prospect of the conversation before her. 

Distantly, she felt Merlin touch her shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze, before grabbing her arm and leading them to where Arthur sat. The king was staring down at a stack of papers with enough consternation that she checked to see if they were perhaps written in a foreign language, or in code. They were not.

The king looked thoroughly bored, but that couldn’t be right, could it?

She hesitated before speaking but soon resolved that this needed to be said, and the sooner she did so, the sooner it would be over with.

“Arthur,” she greeted with a small dip of her head.

Arthur sat rod-straight, as if only just realizing they were there. “Guinevere, Merlin. What are you doing here?”

“There is something we’ve been meaning to tell you,” she began, nerves alight.

Arthur’s brows scrunched together more than they already were. “Concerning?”

She pursed her lips. How gently could she lay the issue on Arthur without lying to him entirely? There was no easy way to put this. She looked over to Merlin for help, and he gave her a look that said he would handle it.

“Agravaine,” Merlin said without any tact. “He’s plotting against you.”

“Come again?” Arthur squeaked.

“Merlin,” Gwen admonished, “don’t be so blunt! He needs time to adjust.” She secretly wished she had the confidence to say it outright, but she couldn’t help but take pity on Arthur. And, frankly, it made her nervous to disagree with him so blatantly, even if she was wise enough not to fear him. 

Arthur looked as if he had just experienced a severe mental whiplash. He had been about to say something, probably to dismiss Merlin’s concerns again, but took pause when he heard her, suddenly looking indecisive about what he should do next. 

He settled on rolling his eyes. “Not you, too, Guinevere.”

She rolled her eyes right back at him. “Arthur, I know how hard this must be, but if Gaius isn’t guilty then someone else is. You know that just as well as I do. Please, give us a chance to just state our reasons.” Was she begging Arthur or making demands? Gwen found it was difficult to draw a line between the two.

Either way, Arthur was defeated with one look into her wide, watery eyes. “I will, I promise, but not now,” he said, looking warily at his council still lingering in the hall. He didn’t think they could hear him, but all the same, he whispered the next part. “Seeing as you’re not going to give me a choice about all this, I want you to meet me in my chambers tonight, after curfew. I’ll vouch for you if any of the guards ask but do try to be discreet. That goes for both of you,” he said, looking pointedly at Merlin.

From where Gwen stood, it didn’t seem like Merlin cared that he’d just been insulted. His nervous energy from before had dissipated, leaving only pride and hope in its wake, right where anyone could see it. 

They left the room, Gwen leading Merlin out this time. She didn’t need to look to know that Agravaine’s eyes followed them on their way out, but she walked a little faster for the knowledge of it.

Just as well, she knew they would get Arthur to see reason, and she’d be able to tell Merlin “I told you so” when this was all over. Maybe Arthur could deny one of them on their own, but together, Merlin and Gwen were a force to be reckoned with. 

___________________________________ 

Arthur didn’t know what to think. 

Although he still hadn’t ruled out his uncle as a suspect, the man had seemed normal, albeit a little silent, during the meeting today. Either way, he doubted that silence was filled with scheming like Merlin and Gwen had implied—well, more than implied, but they would discuss it soon enough. The very idea was ridiculous with how straightforward his uncle was even when that meant disagreeing with Arthur. Surely, that wasn’t the behavior of a secret traitor—after all, Merlin was the one who always complained about the bootlickers to him, how their true thoughts and motives were a mystery under the veneer of propriety. It was utterly ludicrous to think… so he simply wouldn’t entertain the thought. An easy fix to an annoying problem. Still, a small part of him insisted that he wasn’t being fair to Merlin and Gwen. Their word counted for just as much as his uncle’s. 

Most would consider him incredibly generous for agreeing to hear out two servants about the supposed misdeeds of a noble… but how could he think that when one of those servants may yet be his queen, and the other had been like a little brother to him—more than that, truthfully—for years? Try as he might, Arthur could not deny that he saw them more and more as his equals. And if he was being even more honest, he would say that they were his betters and had proven so more than a few times. 

Regardless, it felt deceitful to discuss Agravaine without his knowledge, but was that only because of their blood relation? Was it that Arthur could not look past the hole in his life, that of a missing mother? Agravaine was all he had left of her. His refusal to consider another option had caused Gaius’ false conviction… He had almost taken away a man who was like a father to Merlin—Merlin, who grew up without a father, much like Arthur had without his mother. 

The king shook his head as if in a silent, unseen apology. He had almost done this to his best friend because of his own inability to see the truth. He thought back to Morgana’s treachery, Uther’s tyranny… 

Arthur was no fool, though it would seem that circumstance tried to make him into one every time he so much as blinked. It still hurt to think back on his father’s death mere months ago, but the pain he felt now came from a different place. Not one of mourning, but one of regret, of so many questions left unanswered. 

Uther had lied about so much, Arthur knew. At the time, it bewildered him that Morgana, the traitor, should be the one to reveal the truth. But it made perfect sense to him now. He was beginning to understand what drove so many sorcerers to take revenge at the risk of their own lives. The thought would be treasonous if he was not already king. 

There was one thing that Arthur now knew without a shadow of a doubt: the specter of his mother had been truthful. In light of… recent events, Arthur was much more inclined to believe it. 

Gaius had told him that the sorcerer who tried to heal his father had pure intentions. He was not yet entirely sure if this was the truth, but the way Gaius spoke of the man left few doubts in his mind. He only wished he could understand what went wrong. Arthur had been angry when it happened, and he still was… but his anger had been misdirected. Knowing this, Arthur shifted it to those more worthy of his rage. Morgana, for what she did to his kingdom; Uther, for what he did in his grief; and this unknown traitor, for what they were willing to do. It was not as if Arthur did not know that many magic users had attacked his people, himself included, but they sought revenge for a reason and Arthur had sought it himself once. Though their methods were unjustifiable,  
he could not find it in his heart to fault them for their anger.

On that note, a difference in opinion on magic could be considered a sore spot between him and his uncle. Agravaine was much less forgiving and often berated Arthur for his lenience—that is, before his father’s death had hardened his heart to it once more. That Agravaine would be in league with any of Camelot’s enemies seemed ridiculous. 

But that only brought him back to where his questions started. Merlin—not to mention Gaius—was the one who had been hurt and captured. He deserved at least this much input. And Gwen had been right, after all. No matter who it was, Arthur would have to face the fact that someone in his trust had betrayed him… yet again. 

_This is becoming something of a pattern,_ he thought, twisting around in his chair. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Merlin and Gwen should be arriving soon. Where were they? He couldn’t be left waiting all night!

Not five minutes later, the two servants entered, right on time.

“Late as usual, Merlin,” Arthur greeted.

“He hasn’t changed, has he?” Merlin asked Gwen, completely ignoring Arthur.

“No amount of time could fix that, I’m afraid,” Gwen said in a tone that was mocking but a little more serious than anyone else had been. 

The man in question groaned. They were teaming up against him! This was absurd, and rude, and surely punishable in some way, he surmised. He was the king. It was unspoken law that they couldn’t do that.

“You’re here for a reason, aren’t you? Get on with it.”

The smiles fell from their faces as one. 

“Arthur,” Gwen started, “I know how difficult this must be… we’ve all been through it, with Morgana. We would not make these accusations lightly. And we promise to be with you every step of the way.” She looked to Merlin, searching for something—courage or encouragement—to continue, then turned back to Arthur when she found it. “Merlin and I both knew of Morgana’s treachery before the attack on Camelot.”

That, Arthur had not been expecting. 

“You knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Merlin stepped in, shielding Gwen from his anger. “She was the king’s ward, what were we supposed to do? When a servant accuses a noble, especially one as dear to the king as Morgana, we get banished, if not executed. No one would take our word over hers.”

“That’s why we are so grateful you’ve given us this opportunity to speak our minds!” Gwen added, almost urgently. Merlin grunted and made a pained face. He looked at Gwen with betrayal written plain across his face. Arthur guessed that Gwen had stomped on his foot. 

The king thought it would be wise not to mention that he had been thinking about refusing them even this much. They were his most loyal subjects, and he wished that the thought to deny them had never crossed his mind. But Agravaine was also loyal… none of this made any sense.

“So, you knew about Morgana. That doesn’t prove anything about Agravaine. What evidence do you have against him?”

The servants seemed to hold a conversation with just their eyes—could they talk to each other with their minds? Arthur didn’t know anymore, and he was too afraid to ask.

“I only recently came to suspect Agravaine, but certain events from the time of the Dorocha’s attack only make sense in the context of his treachery.”

Arthur motioned for her to continue, but when she failed to, he decided he should be the one directing the conversation anyways.

“Merlin and I were gone through the duration of the attack. Did something happen that we do not know about?”

Gwen was once again hesitant. When she did finally speak, it was in a tumbling rush of words. “It was about the refugees. I was standing in at a council meeting when Agravaine declared that we would not be accepting any.”

“Any…?

“Any refugees, sire. He was going to turn away the refugees from the outlying villages.” 

Arthur felt his chest constrict at the thought. “I don’t understand. Why would he do such a thing?”

“He claimed they would use up our resources. The council was not satisfied with the decision and allowed me to speak. In the end, he was forced to accept them, but he did not seem happy about it.”

“What did he do?” Arthur asked, unashamed to be bristling at the idea of the man’s anger towards his wife—well, partner, as he had yet to propose. 

“To my surprise, he invited my council afterwards. He called me to his chambers that evening for my advice.”

“Alone?”

“…Yes. I thought nothing of it at the time, though there was a certain tension I couldn’t seem to shake off.”

“Did he harm you? Be honest with me, Guinevere.”

She shook her head. “Not directly.”

“How so?”

“My Lord, he-“

Her propriety was really starting to grate on him. Not to mention, she seemed to be avoiding answering his questions despite asking to explain. He’d never known Gwen to be this nervous before. “Guinevere, please, no titles. Just Arthur.”

“Well, Arthur, my lord—I mean, Arthur… he kept me for much of the daylight and had a small group of knights escort me home.”

His forehead scrunched in confusion. “That was kind of him.”

“I thought so, too, until we were attacked.”

“The Dorocha?”

“No, Arthur. I was left unconscious for the Dorocha to find. It was a miracle that Gaius found me first. Not all of the party made it.”

Arthur went taut as a bowstring. “How could someone knock out even a small party of knights within the city walls? And why not just kill you if that was their intent?”

“Gaius says it’s possible that magic was involved. If I could only remember what happened…”

Arthur’s anger deflated into worry. “That’s not your fault. Do you think it could have been Morgana?”

“It seems likely.”

“Why did you never tell me this?” he asked her, then turned to Merlin, almost accusatory. “Did you know about this?”

“No, not a word. Even Gaius never spoke of it.”

“I asked him not to,” Gwen defended the old physician. 

“They tried to kill you!” Merlin yelped. “You could have died and you never told me!”

Gwen clasped her hands together tighter. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, I am worried!” Merlin flailed for the right words. “Gwen, if you are ever in danger, you know you can talk to me, right?”

“Us,” Arthur said. “You can talk to us.”

Merlin dipped his head in a subtle ‘thank you’ to Arthur.

Gwen smiled self-consciously at the attention. “Of course,” she said, looking down at her feet. 

And then Merlin suddenly seemed abashed. “I’m sorry,” he said, as if he was only just coming back to himself. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I never told you that I was actually struck by the Dorocha.”

“You were what?”

“Exactly. You don’t have to tell us everything you’ve been through if you don’t want to, but if you ever need help, we will listen.”

The display of friendship before Arthur was sweet, and he was loathe to disturb it, but they had met up for a reason.

“So, you believe that Agravaine orchestrated this?”

Gwen turned her attention back to Arthur, to his relief. “He did seem very angry. And why else would he keep me until nightfall with the threat of the Dorocha?”

“He wanted it to look like an accident,” Merlin reasoned. “That’s why they didn’t just kill you outright.”

She nodded solemnly. “Gaius came to the same conclusion.”

Arthur felt the need to apologize, but he had no idea where to start. “Guinevere, I’m sorry. You were going through so much and we didn’t even notice.”

“Well, that’s not your fault. I kept it a secret myself, you weren’t supposed to know. That is still how secret-keeping works, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was. Maybe Arthur was being an idiot for blaming himself over these things. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he could have done more.

“Thank you for being honest with me. I will ask the council further questions about the state of Camelot at the time of the Dorocha’s attack.”

They bid farewell after Arthur was prepared for the night. As promised, Arthur held council the following morning. It was a lucky coincidence, he thought, that Agravaine should be absent from this one, but he didn’t take much time to question his apparent luck. Gaius and the others gratefully confirmed what he had been told the night before. He would have to thank Gwen for her quick thinking and courage. And he would do so tonight, in fact, when he called the two servants back to his chambers to further discuss their evidence. Arthur hoped it would rid them of these barriers that kept them from speaking up in the past. After all, he couldn’t imagine a wiser council than these two reckless servants—even if they did turn out wrong about all this, which he hoped they did.

Evening came, and with it came Merlin and Gwen. “Please, take a seat.” The king gestured to the two chairs nearest to the end of the table where he’d taken up residence. 

The servants sat, Merlin closer to the window and Gwen nearer the door, waiting with bated breath for Arthur to speak. 

Likewise, Arthur had been waiting all day for this moment. The longer he went without the answers he sorely needed, the more restless he became.

“I have a very clear cut answer from Gwen, but Merlin, I don’t know quite as much about why you suspect Agravaine.”

“Why—he framed Gaius, that alone should be enough!”

“We don’t know that it was Agravaine who framed him—only that he fell for the ruse. So tell me, why do you suspect him?”

Merlin sighed and crossed his arms, as if disappointed in Arthur. Actually, come to think of it, he was disappointed in Arthur. Arthur tried not to take offense at that.

Merlin’s eyes turned desperate before Arthur could register the change. “Shortly after the Veil… after Lancelot, that is… Agravaine asked Gaius about a sorcerer, an enemy of Morgana’s as far as I know.”

“I’m sorry, you know about some magical enemy Morgana has?”

Merlin didn’t provide an answer, staring blankly at a spot behind Gwen’s shoulder. She turned around as if checking to see that someone wasn’t standing behind her. 

“Why would a sorcerer not side with Morgana?” Arthur continued. “No, I have a better question: why would you and Gaius keep this from me?”

“Because sorcery is illegal and we didn’t want to be accused just for knowing a name?”

That was fair. But still. “What exactly do you believe this proves?”

“That Agravaine was researching an enemy of Morgana’s.”

“He may have simply been looking into apprehending this sorcerer for the good of the kingdom.”

“Then why didn’t he tell you?”

Arthur did not have an answer prepared for that, but there must have been a solid reason. Right?

“When Gaius was abducted, he was tortured for information on this sorcerer. His identity, his location, everything. Morgana won’t rest until she finds him.” Then, quietly, he said, “I think she hates him more than she hates you and Camelot put together.”

“But he’s a sorcerer! Should he not be on her side?”

“He’s protected you before and foiled her plans more than once.”

Arthur gritted out his next sentence. “And you know this how?” If Merlin—stupid, naive Merlin—had harbored a sorcerer… 

“I just overhear things I shouldn’t be listening to, alright? And it’s a lucky thing I do, or you’d be dead!”

That response was more than Arthur had been hoping for and he would gladly accept it if it meant Merlin hadn’t admitted to harboring a sorcerer. He chose to ignore the last part, rolling his eyes for Merlin to see.

“There has to be more to it…” Arthur said, more to himself than to his guests. But… wait. His breathing suddenly picked up. “There is more. How did I not see it?”

Merlin and Gwen both looked up at him as if they were afraid to hope but couldn’t help it. 

“When Agravaine first suggested that Gaius is the traitor… it was when I was confronting him about my suspicions that he was responsible. He was the only council member who knew the route we were taking… but is that enough proof?”

“Well, what more could you possibly need?”

“The penalty for treason is death, Merlin. You must understand that I cannot take this accusation lightly.”

At Merlin’s strained nod, Arthur released a breath. He didn’t like the direction his mind had taken, but he knew he needed to follow it through. “Gaius’ abduction. It was set up to look like he’d run away. I didn’t realize it then, but there was much left to be answered. Why would a suspected sorcerer leave a book of magic where we could see it? Why would he not take it with him?”

“It wasn’t his book. I, erm… found a chest in Agravaine’s chambers with several of them in it.”

“And what were you doing in Agravaine’s chambers?”

Merlin was silent for a beat, looking at Arthur as if he didn’t need to explain himself. And, Arthur realized, he really didn’t. “Gaius was missing and I knew Agravaine was responsible. There had to be something, some sort of clue, to prove his innocence.”

“That’s grounds for treason, Merlin.”

“Is what I did worse than being a traitor? You can go ahead and execute me for being right. I won’t apologize for saving Gaius. ”

“I’m not asking you to!”

Merlin just crossed his arms and leveled him with that no-nonsense glare of his. 

Arthur sighed. He found himself doing this more frequently now than ever. “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Did you find anything?”

“…There was iron ore on his boots. I didn’t know what it was at first, but Gwaine did. He helped me track Gaius.”

Interesting. He’d have to ask Gwaine about that.

“And is there anything else I should know?”

“There is one other thing.” 

Silence. Arthur gestured for him to continue.

For once, Merlin actually hesitated before opening his mouth. “That night, Agravaine asked that I get a dagger sharpened. It was a gift for you.” 

Merlin visibly shuddered, as if the dagger had been a threat to himself and not a gift for Arthur. Though, Arthur supposed that if it had been, he would be the last to know. He listened intently to Merlin, a thread of worry working its way through him. 

“It was while I was out that Gaius disappeared. If I hadn’t been preoccupied with the task he gave me, I would’ve been there. And he knew it, everyone knows it.”

“So that’s why you were in my room when the warning bells rang,” Arthur realized. “You were following his instructions.”

“Arthur, he doesn’t have your best interests in mind. You have to understand that. It’s clear just in how he acts.”

“Merlin is right.” Gwen‘s voice brought both men back to the present. “It’s just, the way he looks at you sometimes when your back is turned, or his determination to pass council that would harm the people… and Merlin found physical proof of his suspicions, after all.”

“You’re telling me that Agravaine is not only responsible for your capture and Gaius’ abduction, but that he is also practicing magic?”

“Err… I don’t think Agravaine is actually learning magic from the books, if that’s what you’re referring to. He doesn’t need magic and hasn’t used it as far as I know. But Morgana has enemies even among those with magic. It’s more likely he’s looking for information on how to defeat them.”

“And how would you know this?”

“She seemed to think Gaius could give her information on them. I can’t imagine most sorcerers would want to be associated with her anyways, what with all the chaos and havoc she’s caused.”

“And you know the mind of a sorcerer? Last I checked, they’re in the habit of trying to kill us.” Arthur smirked a little at having to be so obvious, but he dropped it at Merlin’s outburst.

“Surely you can’t think they’re all one hive mind? Do you think the Druids approve of Morgana’s terror and bloodshed, or some other nonsense?”

“Merlin!” Gwen chastised. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Gaius’ abduction is a really sensitive topic—I’m sure he doesn’t mean that.”

Merlin didn’t dignify that with an answer, more than content to just cross his arms and fume silently in his seat. 

“Bring me some proof,” Arthur conceded with a sigh. “A book should be enough, and then we can come to a decision.”

His servant squinted at him. “Are you asking me to break into his chambers?”

Arthur couldn’t help rolling his eyes, ineffectively hiding the humor glistening behind them. “I am asking you to help identify a traitor and I expect you to obey your king.”

The shocked look was wiped from Merlin’s face and replaced with a small, lopsided smile. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur waved him off. “Go on, now, commit your little crime. Agravaine probably won’t be back in his chambers for another hour. I expect that’s enough time to get one measly book.”

Merlin nodded eagerly and practically bounded to the door. It was good to see the bounce return to his step. 

Gwen had been watching Merlin with just as much interest. “You shouldn’t have let him do that. It could be dangerous.”

“He did it once before. Rest assured he can do it again.”

The look she settled on him told him in no uncertain terms how wrong he was. “This isn’t just about Gaius. He cares for you, Arthur. He wants to protect you… in his own way,” she amended. They both tried not to smile at the thought of Merlin’s eccentric and clumsy nature, but neither of them had such restraint.

The light laughter burst out of her before she could catch herself. “I’m sorry, my lord, but it’s true! He’s saved your life before and he’s eager to do it again, heedless of the dangers. Do you understand what he’s doing right now, from his perspective? He’s sneaking into the chambers of someone who would have him dead!”

She was right, of course. Arthur had mostly sent Merlin in the hopes that he would come back empty-handed, but was that fair to do when Merlin believed it to be true without a doubt? 

Suddenly, Guinevere’s words caught up with him. 

“We don’t actually know that Agravaine is behind all this. For all we know-“

“Arthur, you’re not listening! You treat his loyalty as if it means nothing to you, and you can’t so much as thank him for it! For all that you say you believe in equality, you show no care when someone of Merlin’s standing—of our standing—would give up their life for you.” 

Arthur watched Gwen closely. She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, digging her nails into her palms. Her expression morphed from anger to horror when she realized just how much she’d said. 

It was funny how Gwen would chastise Merlin for speaking out too harshly, only to do it herself the moment he was gone. There was a time when she encouraged him to speak out, no matter how inappropriate it was. Arthur suspected she was more willing to face the consequences herself than she was to let Merlin do the same, now that the situation was far more serious. Either way, this sort of reckless abandon seemed to be ingrained in her. As per usual, Arthur was stunned into silence that this woman of such a selfless, kind, and just nature should love him as much as he loved her. 

“Guinevere…” he began, regretting it as soon as he realized that he didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t improved as much as Gwen hoped he had. He hadn’t met her expectations. He had started treating Gwen with the respect she deserved, but he’d done little for anyone else, too focused on proving himself to her. How was she supposed to believe that his expressions of love were genuine when he still treated people like her as if they were truly beneath him? He had been so stupid. He thought he understood now, but how could he ever make it right?

“Arthur,” she interrupted his train of thought. “I know what you’re thinking. And I know how much you care about Merlin. But he deserves to know that, too.” 

She reached across the table to take his hand in hers, her thumb gently caressing the back of his hand. Arthur returned the gesture.

“Merlin is… devoted,” Arthur concluded, unable to think of a better descriptor. “But surely he knows that I…” He paused. “I’ve thanked him before, on several occasions. He knows that I don’t take him for granted, right?”

A strained hum emitted from Gwen’s side of the table. “I think perhaps it is Merlin who takes his devotion for granted. I’ve heard the way he talks about you, as if your life is worth a hundred of his. Even you can’t convince him he’s wrong there, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. You’re his friend, whether you admit it or not.”

 _Am I his friend?_ Arthur thought. _Is it really a friendship when one person feels his life is nothing compared to the other, and the other can’t even give him the proper thanks?_

“Merlin is incredibly brave, and loyal… and once in a while, very wise. It reminds me of someone I know.”

“Who?” Gwen asked with a confused tilt of her head. Arthur looked deep into her dark eyes, losing himself in those depths. The meaning of his words finally registered with her and she smiled self-consciously, squeezing his hand tighter.

He wasn’t sure how long he and Gwen sat there, holding on to each other’s hands like they couldn’t let go. The room had gone quiet, the occasional crackling of the hearth the only sign that the world around them still existed. There was a warmth in his chest that he knew did not come from the fire. Without taking her gaze off him, Gwen leaned forward, just enough that she could meet his lips in the middle-

They broke apart, startled when the door opened and in entered a very ruffled-looking Merlin. 

The servant’s hands twisted anxiously. “I didn’t get the book.”

“Well, what happened?” Arthur asked, agitated at the disturbance. “Is it just not there anymore?”

Merlin’s nose twitched and he rubbed absently at his shoulder. Although Arthur could only see the back of her head now, he could sense that Gwen was scrutinizing Merlin, probably seeing right through him. 

“I didn’t get the book… because he knew I was there.”


	2. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur comes closer to making a decision, but Morgana is quicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Themes/threats of non-con and non-con touching, but no actual non-con occurs in this chapter.

Merlin was beyond thrilled that Arthur had entrusted him with this. He’d been unsure if telling the story about Agravaine on the night of Gaius’ disappearance would register as proof for Arthur, but now he realized he shouldn’t have doubted him so. Gwen was right: Arthur would come around. Still, he had to repress a shudder at the memory of Agravaine’s blade so close to his throat, an unspoken threat that hung in the air and left him feeling not unlike a rabbit caught in a snare.

Actually sneaking into Agravaine’s chambers was far too easy. Easier than it had been the last time. Come to think of it, Merlin hadn’t seen Agravaine all day, and he was making no objections to being spared from that particular unpleasantness. It would work in his favor tonight, anyway, even if he did wish to keep an eye on the traitor. 

Or maybe Merlin had spoken too soon, because when he checked under the bed where the chest of magic books had been, he found the spot to be completely bare. Agravaine had probably returned them to Morgana already, which meant that any chance of finding substantial evidence was long gone now. He groaned out his frustration, sitting forlornly on the floor as if the chest would just appear in front of him and all his problems would cease to exist. To Merlin’s dismay, the near opposite happened. 

A pair of familiar footfalls sounded down the corridor. Merlin only had seconds to crawl under the bed and hide before Agravaine entered his chambers. 

The door shut behind Agravaine as he sat on the bed, slipping out of his boots before stepping behind the folding screen to change into his nightclothes. This would be Merlin’s only chance to leave the room unnoticed. Sliding out from under the bed, he crept towards the door. He only had to cross ten steps, really, yet the soft, welcoming glow of torchlight through the cracks in the door could not have seemed more distant. He moved swiftly, but not swiftly enough. There was just an arm’s length between him and the safety of the hall when he realized he wouldn’t make it.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Merlin froze, unable to do so much as breathe, when he felt the tip of a blade nudge against his lower back. A liquid rush of gold shot through his eyes and he clenched his fists in retaliation, hard enough to draw blood. If he didn’t ground himself, there was no telling what his magic would do. He waited for his eyes to return to their usual blue, the power burrowing back inside his veins where it belonged. He then raised his hands in submission, ever mindful of the steel at his back, and found the courage to turn around and gather his bearings.

Before him stood Agravaine, stripped down to just a tunic and breeches. The man’s sword rested snug against Merlin’s naval, and he was suddenly aware of just how cold and sharp it felt on his prickling skin. His hands shook, so he plastered them to his sides to quell the telltale sign of fear.

“Erm, just… Arthur sent me to check in on you tonight, my lord, I thought you were aware.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, at least.

Agravaine stalked even closer, smooth and controlled. He reminded the younger man of a predator with its eyes set on some unsuspecting prey. Merlin backed away, only stopping when the door behind him dug painfully into his shoulders. 

“Is that so?” Agravaine asked, though Merlin didn’t dare answer. “I don’t believe this is the first time I’ve caught you sneaking about my chambers, boy.”

 _Oh, god._ A lump rose in Merlin’s throat. Had he been seen before? He had no idea, no response, even as Agravaine took a final step so close Merlin could taste his foul breath. Pinned against the door with nowhere to turn, Merlin found himself effectively trapped. The sword pressed in further and he was forced to suck in his stomach.

The next thing Merlin knew was pain, as he was twisted around and slammed face-first into the neighboring stone wall. Agravaine wrenched Merlin’s left arm behind his back and locked it in place, then took his free wrist in a bruising grip and pinned it to the wall above his head. He writhed pitifully as his cheek scraped against the wall—not enough to leave a mark, but still, it served as a silent testimony to his helplessness.

“Do you want the king to find out what you’ve been up to?” Agravaine practically growled into his ear.

Merlin’s voice came out embarrassingly thin. “I’m sorry, my lord-”

“No, don’t apologize.” From the corner of his eye, Merlin watched a disconcerting smile cross Agravaine’s face. “If you so insist on being here, you can at least make yourself useful.” 

He was suddenly well aware of Agravaine’s close proximity as the man pressed flush against his back, stretching his trapped arm further than necessary. Merlin mouthed what would have been a cry of pain if his voice hadn’t chosen that exact moment to give out. 

Agravaine pushed him into the wall with his full weight, pinning Merlin between the stone and the stronger body behind him. The movement jarred his arm again, and in his shock he was mostly unaware of the fact that his wrist had been released, Agravaine’s hand otherwise occupied as it traveled over his hip and waist, but he finally processed the movement and shuddered at the touch. 

“Stop!” he tried to yell. It came out as a choked plea.

“You’d do well to remember your place, boy,” the noble whispered roughly into Merlin’s ear, shifting against him so that Merlin could feel every angle of his body through the thin layers of fabric keeping them apart. It took every bit of his willpower not to gag.

“My lord,” he managed to grit out with an unpreventable air of sarcasm, still not quite caring for the superiority act even through his fear, “I’m expected back at Arthur’s chambers for the night.” He was proud that his voice didn’t shake, sounding far stronger than it had only moments before. 

“Surely it can wait if you had time to come here.” He shivered when the man’s warm breath ghosted across his neck. The hand was back, now inching precariously close to— well, he must have been mistaken. It didn’t matter! Merlin tried once again to wrestle free without injuring himself, to no effect.

“My duty to Ar- my king comes first, my lord,” he reasoned. Still, no change. “He will come looking for me.”

The hand stopped its progress and Merlin was released from the tight hold. He heaved out a breath of relief, rubbing the ache from his shoulder before looking back up at the man. He was honestly surprised that worked.

“Run along, then,” Agravaine bit out slowly, as if he regretted the words even as they left his mouth. But Merlin was not going to stick around to find out why. He was out the door as soon as he was given leave. 

Once he was back in the hallway and a safe distance from the man’s chambers, Merlin pressed his forehead to the cool stone wall and tried to steady his quickening breath. What was that? If he didn’t know any better… Again, it wasn’t worth his breath, because clearly he was mistaken.

He straightened his shoulders, wincing as pain twinged through the one that had been held behind his back, but he couldn’t shake off his fear. The situation was precarious enough as it was without Merlin’s fluke. 

What on earth was he going to tell Arthur?

___________________________

 _Trust Merlin to get caught the second he’s actually supposed to be breaking the law,_ Arthur thought. 

Merlin’s report worried him more than he let on. His servant had returned to his chambers, eerily quiet and noticeably trembling. Whatever happened between Merlin and Agravaine had clearly troubled him. It wasn’t until morning that the bruises appeared, lining his face and wrists. Arthur wished he could confront his uncle about abusing servants of the royal household, particularly his own personal manservant, but unfortunately, Merlin _was_ a servant and he _had_ broken the law, even if it was by Arthur’s own decree. He swallowed around the unpleasant lump that formed in his throat. An awful, twisting heat surged in his chest and behind his eyes; he watched distantly as his vision went blurry. Guilt, he realized, for asking Merlin to risk himself like that. More than anything, he wished he could do more, but he feared jeopardizing Camelot’s safety. He palmed his forehead as if it would erase the creases that were becoming permanently etched there. Predictably, it did nothing, not even lessening the headache that had been addling him since this morning.

Arthur adjourned his next council session early. As important as the grain stores were, the issue of the traitor came first—there were plenty of people who could sort out food stocks, surely. Arthur had never been any good at it, anyway. Not to mention, if Morgana got her hands on the crown again, there probably wouldn’t be any grain for his people—not the loyal ones, at any rate. If Merlin and Gwen were right, then there was no time to spare. They had told him almost everything, but there were still some pieces missing, and he knew just who he needed to talk to.

Finding Gwaine was easy enough. The nearest tavern was the first place he thought to look. To his good fortune, the knight wasn’t deep into his drinks as he would have expected. Rather, he sat sipping at what looked to be his first drink, the hard lines of his face apparent as he sat  
silent in thought. Arthur sidled in next to him.

“Arthur, good to see you. What brings you here?”

Right to business, then. “Merlin said you helped him find where Gaius was being kept.”

His knight raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. “I’m happy to help a friend in need. Why does this surprise you?”

“I’m not the least bit surprised,” Arthur said, “but I am wondering how it is exactly that you helped him.”

“Alright.” Gwaine slammed his mug hard into the table, the undrank ale splashing out over the sides. “I went to check in on Merlin—he was in a bit of a rough spot if you hadn’t noticed—but he wasn’t there, so I waited for him to come back. He was a little busy collecting evidence to prove Gaius’ innocence. He’d found some iron ore, though he never told me where he got it from. It led us straight to the Ridge of Kemeray.”

Arthur chose to ignore the sarcasm and focused on what Gwaine hadn’t said. “He didn’t tell you that he found it on Agravaine’s boots?”

Gwaine froze. “So you know about him.”

“I think I want to know more.”

“Then you came to the right person,” Gwaine said, taking a swig from his tankard and looking down at it with a weathered smile before it disappeared, leaving no trace that it was ever there to begin with. “When I found Gaius in that cave, Agravaine was there. The man was holding a sword to Gaius’ throat. Said he was checking to see if he was breathing. Said a lot of rubbish, actually. Not that it matters, since they were clearly lies.”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat with anger at how his knight could state it all so casually. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

“You mean, why didn’t I run him through when I saw a sword at Gaius’ throat? As much as I wanted to do it, what would you have done if I’d killed your uncle without any solid proof of his guilt?”

Arthur flexed his hands in poorly disguised irritation. “I don’t know, seeing as you didn’t do it.”

“Alright then. What did you do when Merlin merely suggested that he was lying?”

“I told him…”

Gwaine gave Arthur a disapproving look, and the man in question hung his shoulders in defeat.

“I told him that I had already lost one friend and that I didn’t want to lose another. I ignored him. I called it treason! How could I have been so stupid?”

“Can’t answer that, mate. But you do owe him one hell of an apology.”

“I tried! He said that it was Gaius I needed to apologize to, not him.”

Gwaine’s voice and demeanor became wistful. “‘Course he would. It’s another one of those great things about Merlin—his selflessness. Never asks for anything for himself…”

Arthur realized too late what Gwaine was doing. It happened often when he was drunk or worried about Merlin. It was usually a little bit of both, come to think of it. The knight would go on an hours-long tirade about how great Merlin is if no one stopped him. Arthur was forced to cut Gwaine short about ten minutes in so he could tend to his other duties. He had heard all he needed to hear, thanks.

Unfortunately, neither man saw the cloaked figure silently slip through the door after Arthur left, nor did they see where he was headed. 

___________________________ 

Arthur was glaring down at the very same grain reports he’d been avoiding the last few days when he heard a knock on his door. 

He sighed. “Enter.”

Agravaine, who was the very last person he wanted to face right now, walked in, bearing something rolled up under his arm.

“What’s this?” Arthur asked, looking over the bundle suspiciously. 

“Ah, this,” the traitor said, as if it wasn’t the entire reason behind this visit. “I was going to wait for a more special occasion, but I couldn’t help but notice how tense you are lately.”

Of course Agravaine would notice. Arthur tensed every time the man walked into the room, though he hoped he hadn’t been so obvious about it.

“What is it?” he asked again, repressing the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s feigned kindness.

To Arthur’s ever-growing bewilderment, his uncle stepped up to his bed and unrolled a rug. A very ugly, ugly rug.

“This,” he began, “belonged to your mother.”

…Oh?

“Where did you find this?” he asked, wondering how his voice had gone from sounding like the grown man he was to a wounded child. He cleared his throat, and Agravaine knew better than to acknowledge the change.

“One of the storage rooms, my lord. Most of the other items were unrecognizable or beyond repair. It is a miracle the rug survived at all! We used to sit on this rug every night waiting for our favorite maid to tell us these splendid stories… Ygraine loved those stories even more than I did, I think.”

Arthur’s fingers tapped on the table relentlessly. He glared down at his restless fingers, only for his eyes to come to rest on the silver ring there. He sighed.

“You’re giving it to me?”

“I want you to have it, Arthur. You have very little to remember her by.”

“…Thank you, uncle.”

___________________________ 

“You’re early. You haven’t failed me again, have you?”

“No! Nothing of the sort, my lady, although I fear there isn’t much time left. Is it ready yet?”

“Almost. You need only wait this out for one more day. He accepted that garish rug, yes?”

Garish? Agravaine thought the ornate pattern was too good for Arthur, if anything. He almost spent his breath to defend the rug, but on second thought, this didn’t seem worth angering a powerful sorceress over.

“I told him it once belonged to his mother,” he said instead. “It should buy us enough time for you to perform the spell.”

This was splendid news for his mistress. “Oh, the poor child!” she cooed through her smile. 

Agravaine was growing rather uneasy with the turn this meeting had taken—his sister’s death was not to be taken lightly—but he was saved from his distress when Morgana stepped up to a large cauldron hid between her crowded shelves. It was wider than it was tall, though propped up to the height of her hips by a makeshift table of the same wood and twine that held together the hovel. She poured water into it from an earthenware pitcher, and then muttered something that was unintelligible to Agravaine’s ears. He tried to make sense of it until her eyes glowed bright enough to match the sun, admonishing himself for not recognizing the words of the Old Religion sooner. He quickly turned his focus back to what Morgana was preparing. 

In the water, Agravaine could see an image of Arthur in his room, as if it were a mere reflection. 

“My sister taught me scrying; everything I know comes from her.”

Agravaine knew well enough that no words could soothe the loss of her sister. When Morgana and Morgause first enlisted his help, he had agreed in order to avenge his own sister, whose endearing face was now confined to memories of a time long past. Because she had trusted Uther Pendragon, and the so-called king betrayed her. Uther was dead now, but the son who stole her life still wore the crown, and Agravaine would not be satisfied until it was passed to the rightful heir. It went without saying that Morgana felt much the same way. 

“I am sorry for your loss, my lady, but her life was not given in vain.”

Morgana made a small choking sound and shut her eyes, the gold hidden away in a moment of raw grief. The fire in the hearth seemed to flare up higher than normal. 

“We’ve both lost much to Uther. I will perform the spell from here when all is in place. You need only get close enough to prepare it.”

He smirked. Soon, they would be rid of the young king. He would just need to keep that pesky servant out of the way, while keeping him close enough to enact Morgana’s revenge. He thought back to their last interaction, the heady scent of fear that radiated from the boy. Ever so slowly, an idea was forming—a plan that could not fail him once he had the authority to put it into action. His lady would be pleased, indeed.

“That will not be a problem.” 

___________________________ 

Arthur paused in his writing at the sound of his door opening. It had to be Merlin; he was the only one who never knocked. He wasn’t expecting him this early, but he would make do.

“Where’s Gwen?” Merlin asked, locking Arthur’s door behind him.

Arthur looked at Merlin as though searching for something, though for the life of him, he didn’t know what for. “I wanted to speak to you alone this time.”

It looked as if Merlin didn’t know what to make of this. His face journeyed through several conflicting emotions before landing on a soft smile. “Oh yeah, what about?” he asked as casually as he could.

Arthur would apologize, just like Gwaine had told him to. He would, honestly. But Merlin was staring at him with these bright and hopeful eyes, and Arthur couldn’t bear the thought of those eyes turning on him in sadness or in anger—in remembrance.

Arthur would apologize. Soon. He hoped.

Either way, he needed to continue his discussion with Merlin sooner rather than later. “The sorcerer who killed my father… or, didn’t kill him, as it were. Gaius told me he tried to heal him, but a man that powerful should have succeeded if he meant to. Yet there was something so genuine behind his eyes when he agreed to do it, I wanted to trust him.” 

Arthur was interrupted by a sudden creak, as if someone were trying to quietly open the door. They froze, but seeing no shadows beneath the door and never hearing the sound of retreating footsteps, they continued, albeit more cautiously than before. 

“Could he be one of these enemies of Morgana’s? And if so, wouldn’t that complicate the laws on magic?” In truth, a bitter part of Arthur was not so certain that he should uphold his promise to the man considering he’d failed in his task. But… that was not just. If the man had been honest, then he deserved to live free. But how could Arthur make such a decision when he had no way of knowing the truth?

Merlin pursed his lips and released a steady breath. “Do you really want to know the answer to that?” he replied warily.

 _Yes!_ Wait, what could Merlin possibly know about his father’s death? He never met the sorcerer as far as Arthur knew… yet, he had been able to lead him to the hut just fine. Was it possible Merlin wasn’t just going to the tavern on those days when he was mysteriously missing? Could Merlin have consorted with a known sorcerer?

He set down the quill he hadn’t realized he was fiddling around with while he pondered the possibilities. “Merlin, I am prepared to hear just about anything right now.”

“Alright.” When Merlin spoke, his voice was thready but clear. “I don’t think the man betrayed you. If he wanted Uther dead, he would have just let him die without implicating magic. He would have gained more by actually saving him. What exactly do you think he got out of killing an already dying man that compares to earning his people’s freedom?”

“Same as Morgana, revenge.” It didn’t sound very convincing, even to his own ears.

“I don’t think so. Gaius and I think something interfered with his healing spell. Who else knew that you were going to heal Uther with magic?”

“Just you and Gaius! And Gwen. And…”

“And?”

Arthur sighed. “And Agravaine.”

“…I see.”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault my father died, not the sorcerer?”

“It’s not your fault!” Merlin said, a mite passionately. He settled down next to Arthur’s chair and lowered his voice into a light, comforting cadence. “It’s Agravaine’s, and Morgana’s, and Odin’s, and that assassin’s. You weren’t to know. Had everything gone according to your plan, none of this would have happened.”

Hadn’t Arthur learned this lesson the other night? It didn’t matter. He just wanted to go to bed, though he had a feeling it wouldn’t be a very restful sleep. He stood from his desk and walked to his bed, sitting on the edge of it, shoulders slumped in perpetual confusion. 

“I just don’t understand it. Agravaine has always been at my side…”

“Has he?” Merlin layered on the sarcasm, following him to the edge of the bed and taking a seat. “He only took up permanent residence after the attack on Camelot. You don’t think there’s any correlation between his appearance and that of a traitor?”

“You think that way because you don’t know him. You know how it was with Morgana…” he looked somewhere past Merlin’s shoulder, unable to look him in the eyes. “I can’t take that heartbreak again.”

Merlin’s features softened in understanding. “I can’t imagine going through that twice. But I also couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you or to Camelot because we chose to ignore it.”

Arthur did look at him then. This close, the stark reality of the purpling bruises was unavoidable. He tried not to look at the finger marks on his fragile-looking wrists. Even if Agravaine was not guilty of treason, Arthur would not want a man like him to remain in his court any longer. Merlin was worried about what Agravaine would do to Arthur, when he should have been worrying about himself.

Neither prince nor servant said anything for a few moments, the two friends contemplating in the heavy silence instead.

“Thank you, but that will be all, Merlin. I think I’m going to settle in for an early night.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed, but slowly he conceded. “If that is what you wish.”

They both stood, but then Merlin was struck with an idea and bent down, rolling up the rug Agravaine had laid out for him. 

Arthur quirked a brow at Merlin’s strange but unsurprising antics. “What are you doing?”

His servant just stared at him blankly, as if the answer was obvious. “Getting rid of this ugly rug? We can’t have you getting nightmares because of it.”

Okay, it wasn’t that ugly. “It was a gift. It belonged to my mother.”

Merlin’s eyes widened comically, the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Yes, er… would you like me to place it closer to the bed, my Lord?”

“Just leave it.”

Instead of lingering on the subject, Merlin walked over to the wardrobe to retrieve Arthur’s nightclothes, but a gentle hand on his arm stopped him. 

“I can take care of it for one night. You should go back to Gaius.”

Merlin couldn’t hide the gratitude shining in his eyes. He gave Arthur a slight smile with a small nod and made to leave, but paused mid-step and turned back around. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know it hasn’t been easy…” 

If Arthur looked closely, he could see the slight trembling of the younger man’s lips, the shining pool gathering in his eyes, and the way his breath was coming a little too shallow. 

Arthur sighed. “You have nothing to apologize for.” _I should be the one apologizing,_ he thought, not for the first time.

Merlin lowered his head in his usual self-deprecating way, but the corners of his lips turned up regardless. He always got like this when Arthur was serious with him. But as nice as it was to see the relief flooding over Merlin, the king couldn’t help himself.

“…except for being a useless, lazy manservant.”

Merlin broke into a wide but watery grin.

“I’ll apologize for that when you stop being such an arrogant prat.”

This banter was always so easy to fall into. Arthur knew he would have to rise up and apologize to Merlin at some point, but they’d had enough stress for one day. 

“Goodnight, Merlin. Get some sleep.”

“You as well, Arthur.”

“And don’t be late!”

Merlin muttered something unintelligible but still clearly an insult before he disappeared out the door. No one was around to hear Arthur’s decidedly unkingly giggle at the reaction he spurred from his friend. He didn’t bother undressing, choosing rather to lay back in his bed, hands behind his head. It wasn’t long before he fell into a light doze.  
___________________________ 

Merlin closed the door to Arthur’s chambers, still muttering about how if he was late, it was the royal prat’s fault entirely… only to find a startled Gwen backing away from the door on unsteady feet. She had obviously been nodding off, cheek pressed against the smooth wood as if she were listening in. _Oh,_ Merlin thought with a flush of embarrassment, _she most definitely was._ She had probably fallen asleep during that long moment of mutual silence. He felt slightly guilty for boring her, as he knew he’d feel the same way if it had been him eavesdropping on her conversations with Arthur. Her sleep-bleary eyes searched sightlessly for the source of her rousing, before they finally came to rest upon him. 

_Oh gods, she’s drunk,_ Merlin realized. He had never seen Gwen drunk outside of her own home before. 

He waved to her cheerfully, and she smiled brightly up at him, straightening out her dress as if it would preserve her dignity. 

Not that Merlin thought she was undignified, of course—she was his future queen after all—but she was still the girl who always eavesdropped with him and gave him flowers and sometimes said the most awkward things… she was his friend, and he could barely remember how empty his life had been before she became a part of it. He imagined a life without Gwen would be like never feeling the warmth of the sun again: unbearably stifling and dull and lifeless.

“Merlin!” she said excitedly. No, expectantly. 

He gave her a knowing smile. “I think he may yet come around.”

She let out a relieved breath. “I told you so. I knew you could do it.”

“Not without you. Come on,” he said, linking his arm in hers, “you need to get some rest.”

“I’ll sleep soundly knowing that Arthur is getting past his current bout of pigheadedness.”

That startled a laugh out of Merlin. Gwen usually didn’t talk about Arthur like this—she must have been tired enough to let loose her inhibitions, or at the very least, sick enough of Arthur's obstinacy. It was a nice change of pace from the carefully cultured control she had pushed herself to adopt. She sounded a little more like the old Gwen, from before Morgana’s betrayal.

“Let’s just get you home first. You can continue your merciless onslaught against our king in the morning.”

She stilled suddenly, almost flinging Merlin to the ground with the momentum. He turned to face her, about to poke fun at her for calling _him_ clumsy, but the words were lost the second she spoke. 

“What if- what if he still won’t see sense? He hasn’t done anything yet and…” She bit her lip, as if she didn’t know how to continue, but Merlin waited patiently for her to find the words. “I just don’t want to see you hurt,” she admitted, reaching up to caress his bruised cheekbone.

Any lightheartedness that had been in the air was instantly sucked out of his lungs. Gwen’s expression was pinched like she was on the brink of breaking and only just holding on. Her worry ran deeper than he knew.

Framing her face in his hands, he looked her directly in the eyes and told her, “He will listen. He _will._ Everything is going to be alright, you’ll see. Have faith, Gwen.” 

She brushed her thumb over his cheek one more time before smiling contentedly and taking his arm again. He hoped that his words would be enough. She had too much to worry about as it was without adding him to the list.

They left the corridor with only the far-off dawn in mind. Morning would come, and with it, change. Behind their backs, a lone figure parted from the safety of the shadows and let himself into the king’s chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot chickens…
> 
> Yes, I accidentally made Arthur super bi for Merlin and Gwen in the last chapter, and possibly this one. It WAS an accident, which my lovely beta, vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge on Ao3, pointed out to me. I’m as confused by the ships as you are!


	3. Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur isn’t anywhere to be seen. Things only get worse from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It feels like this took FOREVER to get done. I hate to keep anyone waiting.
> 
> Heed the warnings: themes of non-con in this chapter, but no actual non-con occurs. Non-graphic violence: mentions of blood and injuries.

The early sun peeked in through Merlin’s bedroom window, a gentle prodding out of sleep he’d grown accustomed to after nearly six years in Camelot. He groaned rather ungratefully and rolled onto his side, unwilling to get up just yet, and fell back into a dead sleep. The sun rose a little higher and the city woke up like one collective body, but Merlin didn’t so much as twitch. As if irritated, the sun shined brightly into the boy’s eyes, forcing him awake. In the space between one second and the next, he shot out of bed like a spooked horse.

Merlin was late. Again.

There wasn’t much time for him to get ready. In fact, he could hardly remember throwing on his clothes from yesterday before he was out the door. For just a split second, he paused in the doorway to wave a good morning to Gaius, who was mixing some concoction—not breakfast, so it didn’t matter—and in turn, the old physician looked up at his frantic ward, shook his head in fond annoyance, and returned to his work. 

By all the signs, things were returning back to normal. Gaius was well enough to walk about again after his ordeal with Alator, Arthur was starting to realize the full extent of Agravaine’s treachery, and Merlin had finally started to relax a bit. He hadn’t truly gotten a good night’s sleep since… well, since Lancelot. Knowing that one of the people responsible for the knight’s death would soon be on trial did not make the subject any less somber, but it brought a sense of relief that he didn’t ever expect to feel again.

The rest of the castle staff stayed out of Merlin’s way as he darted through the halls. They were probably used to his late rush by now, if he was being honest. Already halfway to his destination, he remembered that he needed to serve breakfast and made for the kitchens. _Better to get yelled at by the cook on a bad day than by Arthur on a good day._ Only when he reached the king’s chambers, silver platter and all, did he slow down. He knocked on the off-chance that Arthur might’ve already woken up. No answer. He cracked the door open an inch, and then another, before letting himself in. 

Arthur was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, setting down the platter on the table and drawing open the curtains. The place seemed almost untouched since the night before. It struck him as odd that Arthur would wake up and leave without even opening a window or glancing at the important documents scattered across his desk, even odder that he could manage to dress himself without any help, and—oh no, Merlin had to find him as soon as possible. If the king embarrassed himself because Merlin wasn’t on time, the consequences would be fatal—lectures just weren’t any fun when he wasn’t allowed to talk back. He left the room, the platter once again forgotten.

He would check the throne room first. Sometimes Arthur was called in for urgent matters of the court at ungodly hours. Merlin might not see him until the afternoon on such days, so his late service wouldn’t be a hindrance as long as he occupied himself accordingly. 

But when he reached the throne room, he found it was empty except for Agravaine and a few of the more pompous nobles quietly chattering amongst themselves. Merlin was all too happy to avoid that lot. _Not that any of them could hold a candle to Agravaine’s cruelty,_ he thought, in all fairness. Where to, then? The training field? It’d be a lucky thing if Arthur was already there, taking his anger out on something that wasn’t Merlin.

To his dismay, the training field showed no sign of his master, either, but at last he had found a friendly face. Or rather, a friendly face found him.

“Merlin!” Gwaine called from the other side of the field. The knight was spectating from a table but was armored up as if he had already been on the field that day. _What time was it getting to be, anyway?_

 _“Sir_ Gwaine!” Merlin smiled and sat down beside him, letting the other wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You haven’t seen Arthur, have you?”

Gwaine looked at him like he was asking for his hand in marriage: which was to say, highly confused. “Why would I know where his royal highness is off to? It wasn’t my turn to watch him.”

Merlin deflated a little. “I haven’t seen him all morning. This isn’t like him.”

“All morning, eh? You’ve been looking for a good four hours and not a trace?”

 _“Four hours?”_ Merlin yelled, jumping up off the table and out of Gwaine’s reach. “I’ll be lucky if all Arthur does is execute me!”

“Merlin,” Gwaine said, “I’m only joking.” And then he laughed at the fact that Merlin had unwittingly admitted to sleeping in again. “Four hours! It hasn’t even been one, Merlin. You’re too predictable.” 

Merlin didn’t think so, but he had other priorities. “It’s important! You and I both know what Agravaine’s done and we have no idea what lengths he’s willing to go to. Something’s not right.”

That seemed to sober Gwaine up some, a rare but increasingly more common look for the man. “I’m sorry, Merls. I didn’t mean to get you worked up.” He looked around to make sure they were alone and then pulled the younger man close to whisper conspiratorially. “Another one of your funny feelings?”

Merlin hesitated but then nodded, the movement so small that Gwaine almost missed it. The knight looked him up and down for a moment before finally removing his arm from Merlin’s shoulders and standing. “I’ll help you, but please, for the love of all that’s good, eat something first,” he pled, reaching out a hand to help him to his feet.

“I ate!” Merlin lied, appetite long gone.

Gwaine wasn’t persuaded. He stared down his friend, but Merlin wouldn’t cave in.

“Look, I know you’re worried about the royal prat-”

“That’s my word!”

“-but you’re not going to find him without me, and I won’t budge until you eat… this.” The knight produced an apple from some hidden pocket—probably where he would have kept his flask if Merlin hadn’t taken it upon himself to make sure Gwaine was imbibing less frequently. And, well, apples were his favorite. 

Merlin smiled tiredly and accepted the snack. At another stern look, he took a nibble, and then a bigger chunk, the sweet juice bringing his hunger back at full force. Gwaine patted his back in camaraderie a little too hard, causing him to almost choke, which prompted another more necessary pat. The knight winced in apology before dragging him back into the castle. 

____________________

Hours passed while the duo searched just about all of the citadel. Still, there was no sign of Arthur. The apple had been eaten more than an hour ago, but neither knight nor warlock had had another bite to eat since. 

Merlin and Gwaine weren’t alone in their unease. It seemed as if the entire castle had fallen into a tense silence, waiting in suspense for something to break it. The halls were uncharacteristically quiet as they passed through, only interrupted by the hushed whispers of servants who were so obviously trying not to stare.

As much as Merlin didn’t want to admit it, they weren’t making any progress like this. With a dejected sigh, he found an unoccupied storage closet and pulled Gwaine in after him.

“Taking a little break?” Gwaine asked good-naturedly. 

Merlin didn’t have it in him to answer in like. They should have been able to find Arthur by now. It’s not as if the man had just off and left in the night! Hell, Merlin would have been grateful if there was so much as a footprint to go off of. It was painfully obvious that this had something to do with the revelation of Agravaine’s treachery; but more than that, Merlin was beginning to feel an absence deep inside that he’d never known before, and it told him more than the fruitless search—sans the apple—ever could. He was without a doubt that Arthur was nowhere in Camelot. Suspicion and a hot, unexpected anger rose in him. 

“Merlin? Are you alright?”

“Arthur’s not here.”

“This is a supply closet. Blondie’s never even been this close to a broom before.”

“I mean, he’s not here in Camelot. I can’t feel him.” 

He knew he couldn’t explain the emptiness without revealing too much, or at least without looking like he’d lost his mind. 

Gwaine was looking into his eyes as if he could find in them the answers Merlin wouldn’t speak. The knight was more perceptive than any of them would give him credit for, that much was true. But, as much as Merlin needed someone like Lancelot to confide in, he didn’t have much practice with telling people about it. Most of them had figured it out on their own or else stayed in the dark. His secret was just too dangerous to put on other people for his own needs.

Without another word, he led Gwaine back to where his search began. 

The throne room was more populated upon his return. A steady gossip ran through it, from which Merlin picked up no small amount of confusion. He wasn’t the only one, then. Looking around, he spotted some of the knights from the training field among the rest of Arthur’s round table, minus Gwaine, who was still stuck to his side, as always. Arthur himself was nowhere in sight, predictably. Gaius and Gwen stood at a short distance to the throne, as was customary of servants of the royal household, but ultimately purposeless without the king present. 

Gwen stood expressionless and downcast like a too-proper servant, until she caught sight of Merlin. In an instant, the weight lifted off of her shoulders and the brightness returned to her eyes. It didn’t last long, though, as she read the worry written plainly across his face. Gaius closely watched the silent interaction with great intrigue, possibly assuming that Merlin had been lying to him about something again. That was well-earned, he supposed, since Gaius had been the one to tell him not to accuse Agravaine.

The aforementioned traitor stood to the right of the throne, fingers absently tracing the grooves in the arm. As if he had only been waiting for their arrival to begin, he motioned for the guards to shut the doors, and only when the entrance was blocked did the room fall into silence. His voice rang with authority when he spoke, and with all the warmth of the Dorocha. 

“I thank you all for your patience in this trying time. As Arthur’s right hand, I am thus obligated to announce a matter of great importance to his… most trusted of the court.” He let the silence hang over the room, appearing to dread the coming words, but probably feeding off of the suspense. “The king has been confirmed missing.” 

Without even breaking eye contact, Gwen’s face went from merely confused to sickly pale with shock. Gaius put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, or perhaps to steady her since she looked like she was about to fall down, but it seemed that she didn’t register the touch. Merlin understood, for he felt much the same way.

The room broke into an uproar, but Agravaine called for silence again. “Now is not the time for panic,” he said unconvincingly. “As we speak, I have already sent patrols out in search of him. Any one of you may be subject to questioning while we conduct the search. In the king’s absence, by his will, I am to fulfill his duties as regent.”

Agravaine stepped off the dais and left the room through a back entrance. The crowd started off again and Merlin’s haunches rose at the noise. He shared an uneasy look with Gwaine: if Agravaine hadn’t wanted them to panic, he wouldn’t have corralled them all into this tight of a space and built up their tension with the sort of stunt he just pulled. With the way Gwaine was looking at him, he must’ve thought the same.

The realization that Agravaine had just usurped Arthur’s power did not hit him until he was already dragging Gwaine out through the doors. A sick feeling settled in his stomach: had this been the plan all along? To… get rid of Arthur and place an enemy of the kingdom in charge— and why wait until Arthur knew?

Was Merlin the reason this had happened? 

Whatever the case, it seemed Morgana was ready to make her move. But they could deal with her later. Because Arthur was missing, and the man responsible had stepped into his shoes. Merlin couldn’t begin to predict the fallout, though that wouldn’t stop the horrors from playing out in his head, or the days before him.

____________________

It had been only a day since Arthur’s disappearance was announced to the royal household, but already, Camelot had changed.

As if Agravaine being regent wasn’t enough, Gaius now used all of his time that wasn’t spent sleeping to heal the new victims—or, as Agravaine called them, suspects and traitors. Gwen had busied herself with helping Gaius when she wasn’t attending to her various chores, and all of the knights were in constant motion, setting out on patrols and such, while the servants were kept busy with preparing their supplies.

As for Merlin? He had never felt so alone, or so utterly bored, for that matter. His duties were put on hold without anyone to serve, and as much as he tried to help Gaius, all that amounted to so far was crushing some herbs with a mortar and pestle while staring out a window. Gaius himself was hardly present, as so many of his patients had to be treated from the confines of their cells.

He hoped that he could make himself useful to Gaius by infusing magic into his healing tinctures, but the extreme vigilance of the knights meant that he couldn’t so much as mutter a spell, except in the most private moments when he should have been asleep. Not that he _could_ sleep, given the nightmares. He certainly would have slept if he could’ve gone ten minutes without them.

Merlin was more than just bored or lonely. He was meant to protect Arthur, and he thought that convincing him of Agravaine’s treachery would be enough. He should have known Agravaine would catch on. He wasn’t careful enough, he should have done more, he should have _known._ He shouldn’t have been afraid. 

He was guilty.

That was what it came down to, for Merlin. _I should have risked more, I could have-_

Well, he didn’t know what he could have done, but that didn’t change anything. Arthur was missing, and it was all Merlin’s fault, wasn’t it? They could be doing anything to him while Merlin sat comfortably in his home. Hurt him, tortured him, enchanted him… he may even be- no, he couldn’t even think about it. Arthur had to be alright, wherever he was. He just had to be.

Besides, the situation was not limited to its effects on Arthur. Apart from all the worry it caused, there was now a legally instated interrogation process that any of Arthur’s people could be subjected to. Based on the state of Gaius’ patients in the dungeons, it was not a pleasurable experience. 

Guards, servants, and occasionally Gaius himself had been in and out of the physician’s chambers all day, giving instructions and asking for all sorts of remedies. All he really wanted to do was leave the castle so he could find Arthur himself. Perhaps he could try his hand at scrying, that is, if he could get an uninterrupted moment of peace-

It was just then that the door swung open, hitting the wall hard enough that the wood nearly splintered. Merlin tried to hide his notes on the different herbs and tinctures, as if they had anything to do with the magic he had just considered performing. Hiding was as much of a reflex to him now as the magic itself was. 

The intruder turned out to be a knight, one who he didn’t recognize. Which wasn’t odd in and of itself, but most of the people Gaius had sent up were simple guards or servants who could afford the time to pass a message along. He had a weathered look about him, as if he had seen one too many battles—a feeling Merlin knew all too well—and a thin, blonde beard peppered with grey. But that was secondary to the eyes, which were as hard and grey as the steel that was now pointed at Merlin’s chest.

Merlin swallowed. It was the second time this week that a sword had been pointed at him, and he wondered just briefly if he had done some sort of spell in his sleep that was causing everyone to threaten him.

“What can I do for you, Sir Knight?” he asked carefully. 

“You will be coming with me,” the man said, grabbing Merlin around his bicep, right below his still aching shoulder. He was pulled roughly out the door and down the stairs of the turret before he figured out what the next best question would be.

“Where are you taking me?”

The knight gave him a sidelong glance, but answered the question. “You are needed in the dungeons.”

If Gaius needed Merlin that badly, he could have just asked. He probably needed help setting a bone, and then Merlin would be back to his duties in no time… crushing herbs and staring at nothing in particular. 

He tried to pull away from the knight holding him, but the man’s grasp only tightened. So he was one of _those_ knights who thought he could just do whatever he pleased to servants. _Fantastic_. This was just what he needed today. 

Gods, why were there so many stairs leading down to the dungeons? They didn’t even need dungeons at this rate: they could just exhaust the fight out of their enemies. 

He was relieved to have finally reached the dungeons, at least. Only one more set of stairs. But he became confused as another equally brawny knight joined the one already escorting him, taking Merlin by his other arm.

Merlin had a feeling he wasn’t being taken to see Gaius. 

Those fears were realized when the knights opened the door to a windowless cell. A pair of cruel manacles were hanging from the walls. Beside them, Agravaine stood, waiting for him. Merlin looked up helplessly at the men holding him, but their gazes remained locked on the regent and traitor of Camelot.

“Remove his jacket before we restrain him. It will only get in the way.”

It was no use fighting the bigger men off, but he would not go willingly. They had to practically drag him to the wall, where they forced his wrists up and locked the irons around them, one at a time.

“What is the meaning of this?” Merlin seethed, surprising even himself with the low growl in his voice.

“I admit, this is not ideal, Merlin. However, if you cooperate, I’m sure we can put this whole ordeal behind us.”

The man then had the audacity to smile at him and place a hand on his shoulder, as if he were trying to be Merlin’s friend. It caused something to grow cold inside of him. 

“Answer the question, _Agravaine.”_

Merlin saw the backhand being aimed at his face long before he felt it. He tensed up in anticipation and tried not to wince as the stinging sensation took over the right half of his face. He gasped at the shock of it. His hand moved as if to rub his cheek, but it stayed tethered to the wall. 

“Is that any way for a servant to speak to a lord? I am your superior. I was trusted with the protection of Camelot by your king. I will be the one asking the questions, and I expect you to answer them honestly.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Agravaine waved the two knights forward and smiled, though he did not feign any friendliness this time. 

“Then we will see how long your silence lasts.”

____________________

It was several hours before Agravaine finally relented, leaving the rest of the interrogation to the knights. Merlin hadn’t lied, his refusal to answer any of the questions was evidence enough, though that did not mean he stayed silent. No, there had been gasps, and moans, and the occasional whimper. Agravaine had been forced to hide his pleasure at the sounds in his present company, but left the moment it became too much for him to bear. He shut himself in his room to take care of the growing tightness in his trousers. The thought of the boy, still suffering under the hands and tools of those knights, making those very same pained cries even as Agravaine laid in his bed, lasted him until he was called in to yet another council meeting. The meetings were beginning to feel more like a chore than an opportunity to instate his plans.

Agravaine was stuck trying to keep his head up while one of the older gentlemen rambled on about grain stocks or some other thing that bore no relevance to him. He motioned for the serving girl present to refill his glass before deciding to, finally, interrupt the man.

“Thank you, that will be all on that topic for the time being. My greatest concern as of now is for our missing king. We must send out more patrols to cover the surrounding area.” 

The council was silent, so Agravaine was even more vexed when, of all people, it was the serving girl who spoke out against his decision.

“Sending out more patrols will not help the search for Arthur, it will only weaken Camelot’s defenses. We are already missing our king. Whoever is responsible knows that we are vulnerable.”

He was almost too bewildered by her confidence—and was that anger?—to respond. “My dear, while you make a strong point, I am afraid that the issue you speak of will not be resolved until Arthur is found. If we dispatch more patrols, we can cover more ground. Surely then, we can lay all fears of an attack to rest.”

But she wouldn’t back down. “There are already patrols covering every inch of Camelot! If he can be found in this way, then our knights will be able to do it without expending the rest of our resources. Whoever took him did so in order to weaken us, and we will only be playing into their hands by lowering our defenses.”

“She is right, my lord.” Many murmurs of assent followed Geoffrey’s statement. 

_Geoffrey, you old bastard,_ Agravaine thought. 

“Very well,” he conceded. This was one topic he could likely disobey the council on without much suspicion, but he had needed this meeting to sow doubt into their minds. 

He stared at the servant, and she stared right back at him, chin raised, appearing as much a noble as any of them, if not more so.

It was as if the council trusted a mere serf more than the king’s own uncle! This would not bode well if he let it go on any longer. Morgana would know what to do about the girl. She had been her maidservant, after all. Satisfied that this situation would soon be resolved, he resigned himself to the rest of the meeting, which once again included nothing interesting. The taxes were becoming a strain on the lower town, as if it was any of Agravaine’s concern how they handled their money. One council member suggested that they raise the taxes on the nobility and lowered those of those poor, in order to reaffirm their economic stability. Agravaine believed it to be a rubbish idea. Why must his earnings be cut just out of pity for the poor lifestyle of others? They had been born into it, after all, and should live by those standards.

They ended the meeting on that note, but two of the nobles had pulled the girl—Guinevere, he remembered now—aside, talking with her quietly. She nodded along and smiled sheepishly, as if she were receiving some unexpected praise. Agravaine’s hand curled into a fist. He stormed out of the council chamber and back to the dungeons, where the boy Merlin was still not telling his knights a word. The mood was soiled by Gwen’s recent offense, though, and as much as he would like to keep Merlin there, breaking him now would not aid Agravaine’s plans. He ordered the guards to let him go, and with one last heated look at the figure being unchained from the wall, he took his leave.

____________________

Merlin made his way back to his room, walking along numbly, as if he were being pulled along by some invisible force. He felt that he existed somewhere outside of his body and was only watching from afar; yet at the same time, it was as if he was lost deep within himself where no one could reach him. That was good. He couldn’t stand their touch, anyway. 

____________________

Gwaine had been heading back to his rooms when a dark, unruly head of hair nearly knocked right into him. 

“Merlin!” he said, happy as ever to see his friend. But he received no answer. Merlin continued on walking, as if he was trapped inside a dream. Given the late hour, the only logical conclusion Gwaine could draw was that Merlin had taken to sleepwalking around the castle. And what kind of friend would Gwaine be if he didn’t at least make sure he got home safe? 

As it was, the physician’s chambers were not far. But it felt strange, despite the short trip. Merlin looked like a ghost wandering the halls. He was as pale as one, too. The castle was cold tonight, but he didn’t wear a jacket, though neither did he wear his nightclothes. It wasn’t often that Merlin wore his red tunic to bed—not that Gwaine kept track of what Merlin was wearing in what moods, of course. But it stood to reason that Gwaine’s initial assumption might have been wrong, and if that was true, then he feared what the cause of this distant behavior could be. 

Merlin let himself into his chambers, and Gwaine followed suit, tip-toeing quietly so as not to wake Gaius, who he knew had been working day and night since the interrogations had begun. 

The interrogations…

_Oh no._

Gwaine entered Merlin’s room without knocking, creaking the door open just enough that he could back out if necessary without anyone knowing he was ever there. But when he looked, it was to see Merlin sitting on the edge of his bed, staring off into nothing. He opened the door enough to squeeze through and closed it behind him.

“Merlin. You alright?” Gwaine swallowed nervously, hoping for an answer. He didn’t want to think about what it meant if Merlin didn’t answer him.

“Gwaine?” he said slowly, as if he wasn’t sure. “What are you doing here?”

He let out a relieved breath. “Just checking in on you. Are you alright?” he asked again, stepping towards the bed. 

Merlin began to back away, but seemed to catch the obvious giveaway to his suffering and stopped himself.

Gwaine’s suspicions were as well as said. He sighed, thinking about how he should approach, and decided that the choice should go to Merlin. 

“Can I sit by you?”

Merlin nodded his assent, and to his credit, he tried to stay still. When Gwaine finally sat down next to him, though, he could almost hear his shaking, like a rattlesnake that had been stepped on by human feet before. Wary, but too afraid to strike out, as if biting its attacker would only get it hurt more.

Merlin was finally beginning to wake up, it seemed. Whatever those bastards had done, it had sent him into a state that Gwaine never wanted to see again after tonight. As soon as he found out which knights were responsible, he would bring his friend justice, knights’ code be damned. But Merlin needed to be looked after first.

“Are you hurt?” 

Merlin flinched, but briskly nodded. If he didn’t want to talk, Gwaine wouldn’t make him, but he didn’t want Merlin to sit there suffering when Gwaine could help. 

“Can I take a look?”

“Y-” he cleared his throat, “Yes. If you want to. You don’t have to.” And, gods, Gwaine had forgotten how soft his voice was, and wondered how anyone could have the heart to hear it in pain.

“I’m going to check you over, then.”

He made sure Merlin was watching his hands as he patted down his shoulders and ribs, checking for breaks. A groan escaped Merlin at just a light touch to the shoulder of his left arm, and Gwaine figured it would need a sling. He worked his way downwards and discovered that pressing down on one particular rib would elicit a hiss from Merlin, one that he tried and failed to hide. It didn’t seem broken. Cracked, then? Bruised? Gwaine had dealt with plenty of battlefield and barfight injuries in his lifetime, but he was no physician.

“Perhaps we should get Gaius-“

“No!” Merlin all but yelled, and then looked away, as if embarrassed by his outburst.

Gwaine‘s face pulled taut in sympathy, knowing what Merlin must be feeling. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever you’re thinking right now…”

“It’s not… it’s not just that. Gaius will worry, and he has other patients to look after. I can’t bother him with this. I shouldn’t have even…” He strayed into silence, as if he hadn’t meant to speak it aloud at all. “You can’t tell Gaius. _Please.”_

Gwaine sighed. “You have my promise, Merlin, but you need a skilled physician.” And then he got an idea. “You’re a physician in your own right, aren’t you? Is there any chance you could tell me what needs doing? We could work together on it.”

Merlin brightened a little at the prospect of taking care of himself. “If you could get me some fresh water, that would be a start. There should be a bowl on the table in the next room. And towels, clean towels.”

“Of course, anything you need.”

Gwaine was hesitant to leave his side, but it was only a moment before he was back in the room with the supplies they needed. 

Merlin began to unlace the strings of his tunic, but grimaced when he tried to pull it over his head. “Could you…?”

Gwaine helped strip him of the offending cloth, but was left slack-jawed at the sight of Merlin’s chest. The entire surface was covered in wounds, and not just from this interrogation. Some of them appeared to be years old, by the looks of it. Cuts of all shapes and sizes littered his skin, and in the center of it all was a large, impressive burn, the skin there pink and thready, where there should have been a healthy layer of skin and hair. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could get such a mark, and less so could he imagine Merlin getting it. The few spots that weren’t bleeding or scarred were black and blue. He had never really seen Merlin without a shirt on before, and now he knew why. What kind of trouble could Merlin be getting into? And why did he feel the need to hide it?

As if in answer to that question, Gwaine found a scar on his back that he had only ever seen on a dead man. A serket sting, and a rather large one at that.

He looked up into Merlin’s eyes, horrified. “How are you still alive?”

“Great skill and determination,” Merlin joked. How could he be joking when he looked like he’d been trampled by a herd of wild boar? Even Gwaine couldn’t joke about this. But he knew that any further questions would lead him nowhere on this topic, so he shut his mouth and got to work cleaning the dirt and sweat from his wounds, apologizing at every wince or sharp inhale from Merlin. 

When he finished, Merlin groaned and tried to stretch his arm out, only succeeding in raising it off the bed a little. He used his less-injured arm to catalogue his injuries. “I’m going to need a needle and silk thread. And honey.”

“To fight off infection?”

“Yes.” Merlin seemed excited by Gwaine’s shared knowledge, but it quickly faded into something more solemn. “I can sew myself up if you want to head back to your quarters.” He smiled sweetly up at Gwaine, but underneath it, pain and exhaustion swelled.

“Not with that arm, you can’t,” he said, looking pointedly at Merlin’s immobile arm, and then at a particularly nasty cut on his abled one. “I’ve stitched up cuts before, Merls. Let me help you.”

Gwaine got up and fetched the needle and thread, then took a helping of honey for himself before returning to Merlin’s room with the jar. He got to work on the cut on Merlin’s arm, but let him handle the rest. Despite the pain, Merlin had a steady hand. His long, thin fingers threaded the needle expertly, and Gwaine was mesmerized by the motion, almost forgetting their predicament as he watched. But soon enough, his various cuts were sewn up, and Gwaine had no excuse to hang around any longer. 

But… how could he forget? “One last thing,” he said. He left the room to find a cloth or a sturdier bundle of bandages. Finding the latter, he circled back around to Merlin’s room.

“I’ve already got bandages,” Merlin said, gesturing to the pile on the bed.

Gwaine sat back down beside him. “Give me your arm. Come on.”

Merlin reached out obediently, and Gwaine wrapped the bandages up and under his arm, until it was obvious to Merlin that he had fashioned a makeshift and hopefully comfortable sling.

Having patched Merlin up to his liking, the knight smiled, framing Merlin’s hunched-over form with a supportive hand on each arm.

“Hopefully that’ll set you on the road to healing.”

As loathe as he was to remove himself from the edge of the bed, he figured that Merlin needed some time to himself. His friend had always been a very private person, even when Gwaine got the feeling he wanted to be open about his problems. But no one could force him to do the healthy thing, least of all Gwaine, who could hardly stand to see him when he was hiding the pain, much less when it was laid bare.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Merlin said, in a voice as small as a mouse, and Merlin definitely looked the part, what with his big ears and twitchy nose and… _Focus, Gwaine. Focus._

Okay, maybe it was a bad idea to leave Merlin alone after all. He had sounded so timid, and spoke as if Gwaine was burdened by him… _As if it’s not the complete opposite,_ Gwaine thought with no small amount of shame. He loved Merlin more than he could really say. Being around him was a gift, even tonight.

He cracked a smile that let Merlin know he was in for a wisecrack in lieu of a serious response. “I’m not entirely sure if you’ve noticed, Merlin, but I’m a knight. It’s kind of my duty to take care of people.”

Merlin breathed out a barely audible laugh, but it was enough to lighten the atmosphere. “I mean, you don’t have to be here for me. I can take care of myself.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. After all, I gave up a fine life on the road and settled down here because you needed me. And it seems you need me now more than ever.”

He scooted over closer to Merlin until they were pressed close enough that they could feel nothing but the heat of each other. 

“You’re still the best friend I’ve ever had,” Gwaine went on. “Always will be. I’m not leaving you now.”

The rogue knight looked into Merlin’s eyes then, and Merlin looked back into his with just as much warmth, a telltale flush gracing his high cheeks. The air between them was suddenly far heavier, almost humid, like the scent of a spring rain just before the downpour. Of their own accord, one of the knight’s hands slid up from Merlin’s arm to the back of his neck, the other finding its place at his waist, careful of his injuries. Merlin’s own hands trailed up Gwaine’s side to his chest and bunched up in the fabric of his tunic, fiddling absently with the drawstrings. His eyes flitted down to Gwaine’s mouth and lingered there. Gwaine drew even closer to him, breath dancing across his friend’s lips. 

He wasn’t sure which of them closed the distance between them, or if it was both of them at once, but Gwaine was pretty sure this was something most people did not do with their friends. He hoped he hadn’t just inadvertently ruined their friendship, but then Gwaine’s senses were taken over by the growing heat between them as that soft, plush mouth met his own eager lips with a fervor he’d never known, and he knew no more.

He deepened the kiss before reluctantly pulling away to gauge Merlin’s response. Merlin hadn’t moved at all since it ended, his fingers still caught in the knight’s shirt. Gwaine placed his hands over Merlin’s. 

And then a panicked look entered the other man’s eyes. He backed away from Gwaine until the empty space between them grew into what felt like a bottomless chasm. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t know what came over me.”

Now Gwaine was panicking. Had he misjudged? But Merlin had reciprocated… That couldn’t be it, but still. “Are you not-” _Interested? Happy with me? Am I not enough?_

“It’s not- Gwaine, I want that, more than anything,” he said, eyes flicking back down to Gwaine’s lips, and that was as good of news as any, “but it’s not fair to you. You don't know what you’re getting into.”

There was one thing that Gwaine knew about Merlin, and that was: he knew hardly anything about him. He knew Merlin, of course, as there was no mistaking the selfless, kind, and compassionate nature of his friend. But Merlin had secrets, and they were a total mystery to Gwaine, even after all the years they’d spent together. A small part of him felt that it was unfair—Gwaine had unloaded his life story onto Merlin almost as soon as he met him, after all—but the rational part of him knew that if Merlin was keeping anything from him, it was with good reason. He wouldn’t pressure Merlin into telling him, as much as he wanted to know.

“I don’t mind. You know I’m always up for a little adventure.” He flashed his best smile, but it didn’t erase the tension from Merlin’s face.

“I think I should be getting to bed,” Merlin said, almost too quiet to hear. “Um, see you tomorrow?”

The hope fled from Gwaine, but he refused to let it go without a fight.

Tomorrow. He would talk to Merlin tomorrow and maybe things wouldn’t be so painfully strained like they were now.

“Of course. Sleep well, Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine’s mantra right about now is just “tomorrow is another day,” right alongside “protect Merlin at all costs.”


	4. Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow doesn’t turn out exactly as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I promise all the waiting was puppy-related. The next chapter will be up much sooner than this one was. I had no beta for this chapter so all mistakes are mine! Warning for implied torture, but nothing too graphic.

Tomorrow, as it turned out, did not fare much better than the night before. With so many patrols out in search of their king, there were few knights left to defend the city. And still, despite all that, Sir Leon, first knight and class traitor, _emphasis on traitor_ , had decided that the knights needed to continue their rigorous training sessions instead of doing something actually useful. 

Therefore, he was stuck sparring with _Percival,_ the certified giant, as the sun beat down on his armor and baked him like the delectable, roguish pie he was, when he could have been finding out what had scared Merlin off last night. 

He didn’t even have someone to show off to since Merlin wasn’t at the training field that day. It was _pointless._

But his streak of bad luck had to break eventually. As soon as practice was done with, he waved a servant forward to remove his armor—he felt appropriately terrible for rushing the boy, but he really did need to find Merlin—and made a beeline for the physician’s chambers. He felt himself relaxing despite his ongoing stints of paranoia. He would find Merlin, and whatever the issue was, it would be resolved in no time.

That’s what he thought until Gaius stopped him in the middle of the hall with a loud, unavoidable call of his name. He groaned but gave the old physician his full attention. After all, Merlin wouldn’t have it if Gwaine ignored the man who was like a father to him… and anyway, he might provide some much-needed insight on Merlin.

“Gaius, what can I do for you?” 

“It’s not so much what you can do for me as what you can do for Merlin.”

Gwaine perked up at that. “Merlin? What about him?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow at Gwaine, and with a flush of embarrassment, the knight realized how predictable he was when it came to Merlin. This was followed by a long pause, as if Gaius hadn’t yet decided how to broach the topic with Gwaine. If it was what Gwaine thought it was, then that was perfectly understandable: Gaius knew firsthand how protective he could be of Merlin. If Gwaine didn’t already know, he would be pulling a sword out and stalking up to Agravaine in a span of seconds for ordering it to happen. The only reason Gwaine wasn’t being thrown in the dungeons for treason was because he’d had an entire night to process it.

“I’ve been watching him as closely as I can today…” Gaius began haltingly. “It’s entirely obvious that he’s hiding an injury.”

“Is he alright?” he asked, making an effort to sound perplexed.

Gaius squinted at him but carried on. “That’s what I’d like to know, but he’s entirely too stubborn to tell me what’s wrong.”

He had to chuckle at that. “And you want me to find out for you?”

“I would be incredibly grateful for your help, Sir Gwaine.”

And here was Gwaine’s dilemma. Gaius was the court physician, the one person who could possibly help Merlin, and he had the chance to make that possible. But he had promised Merlin not to speak a word of their encounter, to not worry Gaius more than he could bear. It was not just Gwaine’s honor that held him back, though: Merlin trusted him, and he found it impossible to break that trust. He wanted only to prove himself worthy of it, and so Gwaine would trust Merlin in return. Merlin knew what he was doing, he was a physician himself, and he needed a friend more than the added stress of his mentor knowing the details. If it came down to it, he could convince Merlin to accept Gaius’ treatment, but Merlin seemed confident that he could get by without it.

“Well, I can ask him, but I suspect he’ll just rebuff me.” _Again,_ he tried not to think. 

Gaius’ face lost some of its friendliness, the smile lines suddenly appearing much more stern than before. “You don’t seem surprised that he’s hurt.”

Aw, hell. Gwaine had to get away from this man. He really hoped the rest of this conversation would pass by quickly.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Merlin is clumsy. He gets hurt all the time. Nothing that can’t be helped by a few days of bedrest.” The lie slipped off Gwaine’s tongue easily and he felt a pang of guilt, but he held steady to his trust in Merlin. The last thing he wanted to do was let his friend down over such a simple request.

“Indeed. And I suppose that explains the chafing around his wrists, and the knife marks on his arms.” That said, Gaius stepped closer to Gwaine and fixed him with a glare that demanded his honesty. “He told me that he dealt with his own injuries, but I know for a fact that there is no way he could have done it without the use of both arms, nor could he carry all of the supplies without waking me.”

“Is he healing alright?” Gwaine diverted in what he thought would be a smooth segue into the topic of Merlin’s health, but came out a touch too desperate to distract from his obvious role in all this.

“He hasn’t allowed me to examine him, but his knowledge of the healing arts should be proficient for what I could see of his condition.”

Gwaine knew exactly what Gaius must have seen: cuts, bruises, fractures, chafing, and a faraway look in eyes that were meant to be bright and gleeful and full of life. He pitied Gaius, but he pitied Merlin more. 

Putting a hand on the older man’s shoulder, he said, “I wish I knew more, but I wouldn’t worry. He’ll be alright… he always is.” He hoped it would prove true this time around.

Gaius sighed. “You do not have to tell me, Gwaine, just… please look after him.”

“You have my word,” he said, with a resolve so strong and so earnest, it was impossible to mistake for anything other than the confession it was.

Gaius appraised him with a look of faint recognition, as if he knew more about Gwaine than Gwaine knew about himself. The knight would not be ashamed to admit that he was cowed under that gaze. He made for a hasty retreat, but it seemed that Gaius had other ideas.

“Sir Gwaine… I assume that you are on your way to see him now. You should know that Merlin is supposed to be in his room, resting. Would you see to it that he stays there?”

“Of course. Don’t worry, Gaius, I’ll take care of him.”

When Gaius was finally out of earshot, he snorted. There was no way that Merlin was still in bed, he would just be too miserable. Chances were that he would run into Merlin on his way to the physician’s chambers.

He left in the opposite direction Gaius had gone, nervous and a little excited to see Merlin again. But he didn’t see Merlin at all on the way there, and when he checked for the impossibility of Merlin actually staying in his bed, he was at a loss. How could Merlin have gotten past both the knight and the physician? _Sneaky boy,_ he thought fondly. Without thinking, his feet took him to the place that Merlin frequented most outside of his own room. And there he was, at the end of the corridor just before the one containing Arthur’s chambers. 

“Merlin!” he called, only to watch the expression on Merlin’s face fall into one of horror. The servant turned tail and fled. Gwaine was stuck to the spot in confusion. Sure, things had ended a bit awkward last night, but that wasn’t just nerves or avoidance: that was fear. Worry overcame Gwaine’s senses, and so he followed his friend through the halls. 

Right as he was about to catch up to him, he turned a corner to meet a dead end and not a Merlin in sight. He frowned; he could have sworn Merlin had gone this way. Perhaps his sobriety was already driving him mad. Taking in his surroundings, he realized there was a draft, but no visible windows. He figured Merlin had found some secret passage, having lived in Camelot for far longer than him. Merlin was definitely the type of person to find as many secret passages as possible. Giving up the chase, he decided to make time for him later. Or whenever Merlin was ready. It occurred to Gwaine that Merlin may be too crafty to get to if he wasn’t wanted there. He hoped he was still wanted.

Though a disheartened part of him said otherwise, Gwaine knew this couldn’t be the end of their friendship. He would fight tooth and nail to make things right between them, whatever had gone wrong. He promised to take care of Merlin, and he didn’t go back on his promises.

____________________________

Merlin had only been bedridden for an hour and he was already sick of it. He needed to move his legs and stretch his arms, someplace where he had space, though anyplace had more space than the cot he used for a bed. He needed to clear his head. He needed _out._

He let himself fall to the urge and heaved himself up, tossing his blanket to the floor and swinging his legs over the side of his bed in one swift motion—only to be assailed by the sudden agony in his midsection. A groan of pain fell from his lips and, even as the tears came to his eyes, he realized that his vision was blotted out not just by their wet sheen but by an encroaching greyness that mirrored the sickly tone of his skin. Looking down at himself, he pulled his tunic up to see that the bruising below his ribcage had gotten steadily worse. His breath hitched as he took an inventory of his wounds. He twisted his torso just enough to view his flank, which turned out to be a grave mistake. He whimpered before he could catch himself, curling protectively over his fractured and bruised ribs. The cuts on his arms stretched with his every movement, the scabbed skin bleeding freely once more. 

Every part of him wanted to slide down to the floor and fall asleep there, but he really was too stubborn to stay cooped up against his will any longer. He was determined to at least make it to the training grounds to watch the knights.

Perhaps it was unwise, but he unwound the sling holding his immobile arm, if only to massage the muscles a little before rewrapping it. He carefully pushed his fingers into the taut muscle of his shoulder, still unsure what exactly was wrong with it. And then there was another problem: it was a hell of a lot harder to rebind his arm one-handed than he thought it would be. He thought back to Gwaine’s gentle care not long ago and turned red when he remembered how the night had ended. Perhaps the training field was a bad idea. He didn’t know how he was ever going to face Gwaine again after what transpired between them. After several minutes of fumbling with the bandages, he relented, using his magic to finish the job. 

He was still wearing the same tunic as the night before, when he had collapsed into his bed and into Gwaine’s arms. It was then that he realized he had fallen asleep without so much as removing his boots. That was less work for him, then. Finding his balance, Merlin stood and began the long walk to his bedroom door. It was a lot more difficult than it needed to be. He hadn’t taken a step since before he woke in the late hours of the morning, and his abused muscles made that point all too clear. 

He relaxed upon reaching his bedroom door, only to be faced with the few short stairs heading down into the physician’s quarters. Going down these steps would reopen the wounds on his legs, and he knew well enough how that would feel. He couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, painful as it was to take such deep breaths. What kind of person had the power to slay a high priestess but was intimidated by a few stairs he walked every day? 

Making a mental note to find himself some clean bandages, he steeled his will and took the stairs one at a time, wincing every now and then as the lacerations were slowly reopened. He reached out with his good arm to steady himself against the dizziness. Anyone watching would have likened him to a bird trying to take flight with a broken wing. It made for a pitiful sight, in his opinion.

Aided by his magic, it took less time than he expected to replace his dirtied bandages, though there hadn’t been any clean water in his reach. He doubted that they would become infected after Gwaine had so thoroughly wiped the blood and debris from them. Perhaps he _should_ ask him to come back… but Gwaine was surely busy, and to be quite honest, Merlin had no idea how he would react in the knight’s presence. Asking Gwaine for help was out of the question. 

It was as he finally made it into the hall that he realized, given he lived in a turret, there would be many, _many_ more stairs to come. He groaned out his frustration. Before leaving to take care of the prisoners below, Gaius had made Merlin drink a potion for the pain, but it hadn’t taken any noticeable effect yet. He continued to walk for some time, taking his time on the stairs, before he finally began to feel a difference. Perhaps he needed the physical stimulation after all, in which case, Merlin had an excuse if he got caught. 

He had that thought only moments before he caught a glimpse of Gaius down the hall, and had just moments to pull himself into a shadowed alcove to hide from the physician. Just because he had an excuse didn’t mean he actually wanted to get caught! Gaius would send him back to his room and this would all be for nothing. Luckily, Gaius walked right past, oblivious to his disobedient patient’s plight.

Merlin sighed in relief. He had practically crashed into the stone wall, which inadvertently jarred his shoulder, but in that moment he had been driven by instinct. Now that he was safe from Gaius’ bedrest and potions, his body brought the aggravated injury back to his attention. He bit his lip to keep from crying out and pushed himself from his hiding spot. Gaius was likely heading back to their chambers to restock his supplies, which meant he would be coming back this way soon. More importantly, he would be checking in on his absent ward, and said ward would have a lecture waiting for him. Merlin needed to reroute this outing because that _could not_ happen. 

There were few places in the castle that he knew to be unoccupied. Morgana’s old chambers were one such place, but the memories of that place were still too painful. Uther’s, too, were empty, and Merlin would never forgive himself for that. 

He headed towards Arthur’s chambers. With luck, he would find some evidence that would lead him to the missing king. Luck was not on his side, however. Having changed his route, he did not come upon Gaius again. No, it was the only other person in Camelot he was avoiding right now. Not even certain where he was going, Merlin sped down the corridors, taking sporadic twists and turns in the hopes that Gwaine would lose his trail, until he met an unexpected dead end. 

He turned around, and the footsteps pursuing him grew louder. _That_ was when the entirety of the past few days wanted to crash down on him, apparently. His breathing came at a pace he couldn’t control. If he faced Gwaine, he would have to face everything that happened—the loss, the pain, the helplessness—but he couldn’t, not yet. He backed up, pressing himself as close to the wall and as far from Gwaine as he could. He slid down the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees. His breath was too quick, his face heating, eyes watering. 

The panic took him. 

He usually kept such a firm hold on his emotions to prevent his magic from reacting reflexively, for everyone’s sake. And it worked, generally: nothing had happened in years. Nothing like this, anyway. 

Merlin barely felt the whirlwind building around him, as if it was only a light breeze, nor did he see it with his eyes squeezed so tightly shut. He only really noticed when it all just… stopped. Still shaking, he opened one eye, expecting to see Gwaine holding a sword to his throat for the obvious use of magic. Only, Gwaine was nowhere in sight. 

He peeled the other eye open and looked around his room, where he had definitely not been mere seconds ago. 

That was… new. He didn’t know he could do that. He flopped back on his bed in a haze of shock. And then he did the unexpected: he laughed. He hadn’t even noticed the difference between the stone floor and his bed, and didn’t that say something? 

The laughter was now coming in wheezes. He realized this was a disproportionate response and likely resulted from the panic attack he had mere moments ago, but he was too elated to care. Maybe Gwaine hadn’t seen, though Merlin didn’t know how he could explain his disappearance from the hallway. He really didn’t want to lie to Gwaine any more than he already had. Wiping his face, he settled down into his bed. His blanket was still on the floor, but he had come down from the rush of fear and couldn’t find it in himself to care. Without another thought, he slipped into a light doze.

____________________________

Gwen was exhausted. Balancing her chores as a servant with her responsibilities to Gaius and the people in the dungeons was about as easy as it sounded. She would be up into the early morning hours at this rate. Even so, when Gaius told her about Merlin’s condition, she dropped what she was doing and stormed to the physician’s chambers, prepared to ask Merin which knights were responsible for hurting him. She would be taking this to Arthur as soon as he came back. But she nearly came to a standstill when she realized, through her protective anger, that Merlin had just been interrogated and making him answer more questions would not do him any good. 

Gwen tugged on her hair in frustration. Truthfully, facing a victim of tort- and, and _Merlin_ no less… she didn’t know if she could do it. But she needed to be there for him. It was the least she could do, and it was abundantly more useful than going to her house to scream. So she found her resolve and entered the physician’s chambers. It was quiet and she wondered if Merlin was even here. Slowly opening his bedroom door, she saw him lying on his rock-hard mattress, a mess of blood and sweat and bandages. The sight could have stopped her heart. She spotted his blanket on the ground and something twisted in her heart. 

It was as she was tucking the blanket in around him that she heard him groan, his tired eyes peering up at her. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Merlin! I didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep,” she assured him, running her fingers through his raven hair. He was in desperate need of a bath. 

She left the room, only to grab a stool so she could sit by his bedside. He was still awake, looking up at her without speaking. That was certainly odd for Merlin. She was so used to hearing his voice that it almost felt like she was with a different person. 

He wasn’t, though. He was just Merlin, and someone had been able to listen to that voice in pain, ignored his pleas-

She shook her head. She was making assumptions, getting too caught up in the possibilities. Looking him over, the only thing that was clear to her was that he had been chained or tied up, based on the twin bandages on his wrists.

Gently grasping the wrist closest to her, she asked, “What happened? Who did this to you?”

There was a time when she bore the same marks, when her brother was taken to the castle of Fyrien. At the time, Merlin had wanted her to be honest so he could protect her. But Gwen knew better than anyone that Merlin, though he could see the importance of even the simplest servant, could not see it in himself. She slid her hands down until his own hand was clasped between hers. He was more valuable to Gwen than he would ever know. 

“I fell down some stairs and scraped my hands. You know me,” he lied with a lop-sided smile. 

“Merlin… Gaius told me.”

The smile froze on his face in an unsettling manner. “What does Gaius know?”

“You were taken in by Agravaine. I’m just trying to help you. Will you tell me which knights were responsible?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

He gave her a comforting smile, as if Gwen was the one who needed comforting, and then rolled onto his side so that his back was facing her. She scoffed, but settled in and got comfortable on the stool. Any other servant could take over her duties for a day, but there was only one Gwen and one Merlin. Her work could wait. 

____________________________

It was nightfall when Gwaine was relieved of his duties to visit Merlin. This late into the night, no one was around to see him running through the halls, and so he made it to the physician’s chambers in less time than he thought possible. He nearly skidded past the door, but it was impossible to miss, considering how many times he had been in and out of the place.

Gaius was still out, but still he snuck through the room like a common criminal, just in case Merlin was sleeping. When he reached Merlin’s room, he saw exactly that. But instead of the fitful tossing and turning he had expected, his friend was lying peacefully. Cracking the door open further, he understood why.

Gwen was curled protectively around Merlin’s back, forehead scrunched up as if she was in the throes of a nightmare. She had no blanket, having opted to tuck it around Merlin. He wondered how she had even managed to fall asleep like this, but he knew the servants had been overworked of late. She was holding Merlin’s hand like her life depended on it. It was amazing that he hadn’t woken up from the pressure. 

Something sunk its claws into Gwaine’s heart, and he realized it was more than just his worry for Merlin. He wanted to be where Gwen was right now, holding Merlin through the night, providing what little comfort he could. Would Merlin ever allow that? 

Coming closer, he could hear Gwen’s uneven breathing, so different from Merlin’s calm breaths against her chest. He strode over and shook her shoulder.

She woke with Merlin’s name on her lips. “Merlin, I can’t- wh- Gwaine? What are you doing here?”

“Same as you,” he said, tilting his head towards Merlin’s sleeping form.

“Oh. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was just…”  
She swallowed nervously. “I didn’t want to leave him.”

“Come on.” He helped her up from the bed so she could stand on her shaky feet. “I’ll escort you back to your home. He’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you, Gwaine. I know how much you care about him.”

For the second time that day, Gwaine found himself afraid to look into another’s eyes. Were his affections for Merlin that obvious? Did _everyone_ know?

 _No,_ he decided. _Arthur never noticed anything important when it came to his servant._

Gwaine’s overprotectiveness came to the forefront at full capacity. Here Merlin was, wallowing over the disappearance of someone who was supposed to be his friend, when Arthur had never done the same for him. It angered him that Merlin’s loyalty had been taken for granted. Arthur could be an entitled royal bastard when he wanted to be.

Gwaine would sit on that hardwood stool all night long if he had to. Merlin deserved some gratitude, especially at a time like this. He led Gwen out of the room, giving himself one last glance at Merlin as he shut the door behind him with a soft click.


	5. Something To Pass The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has some extra time on his hands. Meanwhile, Gwen and Gwaine’s curiosity gets the better of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is LATE and I am SORRY. I’m going to be honest… I surprised myself with this one.   
> This chapter is very much the calm before the storm… I am sorry for future chapters, but you might come to see this one as a nice break before I start progressing the plot a little.
> 
> No warnings apply for this chapter, except mentions of a canonical minor character death.

Merlin awoke to the sun blinding him through his eyelids. He groaned and made to shade them, only for his hand to be held back by some immovable force. He gave a testing squeeze and found it to be large and smooth but… calloused and strong. _Familiar._ His eyes flew wide open and locked onto a pair of soft browns. 

The face above him smiled brightly, much like the searing sun it was now blocking. “You’re awake!”

“Gwaine?” he said dumbly, not quite present enough to process what it meant that the knight was by his bedside. Had one of his prayers been answered? No, that had never happened before, it had to be something else…

“Got it right on the first try. Nice job.”

Through the tired haze, he scoffed, but it came out as more of a laugh. “What are you doing here? Where’s Gwen?” Merlin asked, taking his hand out of Gwaine’s to rub his eyes. 

A wave of emotion, though Merlin could not identify what, rolled over Gwaine’s face, only to disappear as fast as it came. 

“She spent part of the night here, so I escorted her home and took her place at your side.” 

Merlin canted his head at him, confused but pleased nonetheless. “That was good of you.”

“I can be chivalrous when the need arises.” 

“Yeah, contrary to popular belief,” he countered with a smile of his own.

The knight pursed his lips. “Speaking of which…” he began, and _oh,_ Merlin had forgotten all about that, chasing after the feeling of waking up to Gwaine, and… how long did he stay last night? What wasn’t he remembering?

It was far too early for this, in Merlin’s opinion… not that anybody seemed to care.

“Gwaine, I shouldn’t have done… you know-” he gestured vaguely, _“-that._ It was a stupid, reckless thing, and I’m sorry.”

“Then we share the guilt. I was more than happy to do it. And you were, too, until you kicked me out. Something happened, I saw it. You panicked.”

“I didn’t mean to cause offense!” he hurried to reassure his friend. “But nothing can ever happen. It’s too risky, and-” He cut himself off before he could reveal too much. 

“And?” Gwaine probed, the face of innocent curiosity.

Merlin did not particularly enjoy lying to Gwaine. He was his most loyal friend, and he deserved better than the half-truths Merlin had to offer. That was exactly why Merlin lied: Gwaine was too good, and if he knew what Merlin really was… Merlin wasn’t willing to lose another friend, and especially not Gwaine, who had seen something special in him despite appearances, who had devoted so much to a servant over a king. Merlin was living a lie that Gwaine could never be a part of, but he deserved _something._ What could Merlin possibly give him?

“You don’t even really know me,” he tried futilely.

“Merlin, I may not know much about your life before Camelot, or whatever big secret you’ve been keeping from us, but I didn’t become your friend for any of that. I like you for _you_ , and nothing is going to change that. I know what kind of person you are, that’s all that matters.”

When Merlin looked back up at Gwaine, the expression on the knight’s face was enough to make him forget what he was about to say. He had only seen this expression on his face once before, though it had been accompanied by different words the first time.

_”Not Arthur.”_

Merlin was beginning to suspect it meant the same thing then as it did now. This… whatever this was between them, it couldn’t go on, as much as Merlin wanted to let himself fall into it and never look back.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to anymore: he unwrapped Gwaine’s fingers from around his hand and plastered on a wide grin that betrayed the torrent in his chest. “Thank you, Gwaine, I couldn’t ask for more. I’m sure you have training to attend to now, and I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties.”

The hopeful look dropped from Gwaine’s face. He reluctantly let go of Merlin and bid a hasty farewell, though Merlin caught the sheen in his eyes before he could turn away. The emptiness of his room was suffocating, but it was for the best, for Gwaine, even if he couldn’t see that. 

Merlin was feeling much better now, anyway. He didn’t need anyone to watch over him, much less to hold his hand. He incanted without really thinking about it, and the pain reliever he knew Gaius left waiting for him flew into his open palm. He made no move to sit up, knowing exactly what kind of pain awaited him, instead opting to stretch his neck enough to avoid choking on the foul concoction. Laying there to wait for it to take effect was not an ideal morning in his mind, but it was a great improvement to the alternative.

He was going to be fine, because if he wasn’t, Gwaine and Gwen and Gaius would stay worried and ask him questions he had no answer to. He would carefully stitch a smile back onto his face, and they would think the tear in his soul was mended. They would laugh at his antics, and there would be nothing to worry about, and he would be fine again. It would be like it never happened, and Merlin could return to the comfort of Arthur’s shadow in no time.  
_____________________________

“So,” Gwaine opened, sidling up to Gwen in the kitchens. She gave him a suspicious side glance but continued loading the laundry. Why did they do the nobles’ laundry in the kitchens? He stuck his tongue out in thought before deciding that the nobles must have no idea it was happening at all, and it probably just made the job easier on the servants. He could get behind that.

“Sir Gwaine,” she greeted when he was quiet for too long.

“Just Gwaine, my lady,” he said, stooping to kiss her hand.

Gwen pulled him up from under his armpits. “Don’t make a scene or I’ll tell Merlin about that flower you gave me.” 

Damn, he needed to be less obvious.

Nobody was actually looking, though the cook did squint in his direction, already suspecting that he was here for some ulterior motive that involved the unsolvable theft of some sweetmeats a few weeks back. Not that Gwaine knew anything about it, and Percival could vouch for him.

“You’ll have to get used to the attention when you become queen. Plus, you deserve the praise.”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want, just get to the point.”

Gwen really saw through everyone, didn’t she? He should have known better.

“Do you know about Merlin’s… secret?”

She made sure no one was watching before pulling him closer so he could hear her barely audible whisper. “Did you find out? What did he tell you?”

He _knew_ there was something.

“I don’t know yet. I was going to bluff to see if you’d give it away but, unfortunately, I’m incapable of lying to you.”

“Merlin has no problem lying to me,” she said, bitter and disgruntled.

He froze. “Wait, you don’t know, either?”

Between biting her lip and wringing her hands together, she admitted, “Lancelot knew—”Gwaine had to repress his jealousy at that, “—but no, he’s never told me. I’ve been piecing it together for years now and nothing makes sense! I want to find out on my own merit, though. I won’t force it out of him.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. What do you think it is? I thought maybe he was a spy or a secret assassin, that maybe his clumsiness is all an act, but the longer I know him the more I realize he really is just that clumsy.”

“Yes, it’s strange… When we first became friends, he told me he was psychic.”

Gwaine scrunched his eyebrows together. It was possible, what with his ‘funny feelings’ and tendency to know things he shouldn’t. “But what’s so dangerous about being psychic that he wouldn’t tell his friends? Did he think it would be mistaken for magic?”

She gasped. “Maybe it _is_ magic.”

They looked at each other for a moment, pondering, and then dismissed the thought in unison. Merlin wouldn’t be stupid enough to practice magic in Camelot, much less to serve her king while doing it. 

“Perhaps,” and Gwaine couldn’t help the smile that lit up his face, “he is secretly a noble.”

“Who on earth would hide such a thing?”

Gwaine sighed. “You would. You hate the attention, no matter how deserved it is.”

She blushed a rosy hue, and Gwaine promised himself that he would get over this crush the second he initiated something with Merlin. “I don’t hate it, per se,” she started, and Gwaine gave her a disbelieving look. “I just don’t want my friends to be bowing down whenever they come to say ‘hello.’ There’s nothing wrong with a little humility.”

“You’ve been humble all your life, you won’t lose that just because you’re shown a little respect.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged self-consciously, and then turned to him with a glint in her eyes. “What if Uther is _his_ father, too?”

He raised his eyebrows and cringed. “I would believe it if it weren’t for the fact that his father died long before Uther did.”

She gasped, hands rising to cover her mouth. “I had no idea! He told me that he never met him.”

“He didn’t until about a year before I came to Camelot. And then, he only knew him for a few days.”

Gwen’s expression could be described as nothing short of perplexed. “He could have talked to me, he knows I would understand. Why would he keep that to himself?”

“He’s…” _selfless, compassionate, kind, stubborn, secretive, lonely, self-deprecating, a friend who gives and gives without ever taking_ “…Merlin.”

The emotion must have shown in his face, for Gwen responded with an understanding smile and a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever is going on with him, I’m sure we’ll figure it out. For now, the most we can do is to just be there for him.”

She was right, and he was meaning to check up on Merlin again anyway, but first… 

“What if he and Gaius smuggle _special_ herbs and concoctions to make some extra coin on the side?”

“He definitely would have told you that.”

She was right again. Still, he would get to the bottom of this, especially if it meant shirking his useless duties for another day.   
_____________________________

As boring as being bedridden was—despite Gaius’ assurances that he could walk around again tomorrow—the last thing Merlin wanted was a repeat of the last time he escaped Gaius’ watchful eye. He would simply wait this out, though he was determined to keep his mind active. Decided as he was on that course of action, he had only one legal hobby that could be done without leaving the room.

Merlin never had the time to apply himself to the arts in Ealdor, and he had even less time in Camelot. Whenever he did get a spare moment, he spent it sleeping or daydreaming about a promised future, sometimes practicing his spells when Gaius was away. But there were times when he couldn’t do even that, often consumed by nightmares or other unpleasant thoughts, and he would look to the little dragon figurine on his shelf. His father had whittled it for him a lifetime ago, it seemed. It was Balinor’s only gift to his son, besides the one that thrummed through his veins and soul alike. In his most hopeless moments, he was reminded of his lost father. Merlin felt his presence again in the breeze that whistled through his open window and where the sun shone warm on his face. _He never really left,_ he would think to himself, and deep within, he knew it to be true. 

His eyes wandered to the other wooden figures that, over time, joined the first. He had wanted to bond with his father more than anything when they met, and though his life may have been stolen, Merlin could not let his influence wilt and die like so many other parts of his life. Maybe he couldn’t learn about the powers he inherited from the late dragonlord, but Merlin had watched him whittle away for most of the night. He held tight to that memory and cherished it like it could be taken away. 

Besides keeping his hands busy, whittling was a way for him to keep the memory of his father alive. Alongside the dragon stood a unicorn, a griffin, and to its left, a dog—any random hunting dog to an unfamiliar eye, but it took Merlin back to the spell he had used to reveal Valiant’s plot against Arthur. In his hands lay a crude-looking bird, his latest work in progress. He was getting better at his craft, but the details needed a bit more precision than he could give them without the full use of his left arm. 

A knock at his door disrupted him, and he almost sliced through a wing. He held his breath until the knife in his hand stilled completely, only releasing it when he was sure he hadn’t done any irreparable damage. 

“Come in,” he called, and Gwaine entered without any visible caution, though Merlin suspected there was much underneath. He was starting to get used to it.

“What have you got there?” Gwaine pointed to the figure, which Merlin subconsciously covered up. “Ah-ah, none of that now. Let me see.”

Merlin gave in and sheepishly handed it over. 

The knight turned it over in his hands excitedly. “It’s a- it’s a bird!”

“It’s a pheasant,” he clarified.

“It’s adorable is what it is. I didn’t know you’re an artist!”

“I’m not, really, it’s just a hobby…”

“Yes, a hobby that takes the kind of skill and patience that I don’t have. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Well, I guess I am getting a bit better at it.” He scratched the back of his head, mussing his hair more than it already was.

“Can I make a commission?”

Merlin stared in blank disbelief. “You want to commission me.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you can have this one when it’s done, if you want.”

Gwaine held the half-formed pheasant to his heart, like a newborn babe swaddled in his arms. “I would love nothing more.”

Merlin shrugged. “Suit yourself. You could always go to the marketplace and get yourself something nice.”

“Not as nice as this. Come on, name your price.”

Merlin crossed his arms. He couldn’t just let an opportunity like this slide, and whittling wouldn’t keep him entertained forever. “Get me some decent food from the palace kitchens and I’ll get you as many of these as you please.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, my friend.”  
_____________________________

For the second time that day, Gwaine found himself standing in the kitchens for Merlin-related purposes. They were mostly deserted now, though he knew the cook wouldn’t stay gone for long. He took in the different foods sitting so delectably on the windowsill, waiting for just any knight to snatch them. Gwaine would be that knight, because he was going to get that little pheasant and put it where he could see it every morning. He was already coming up with a lie to tell Percival and Elyan if they asked. 

He took a deep breath and followed his nose to a decadent treat on one of the windowsills: a freshly-baked apple pie. Merlin loved apples, so this would be perfect. Shoving some dumplings into his pockets without looking at them, he made his way to the window and grabbed the pie.

“What do you think you’re doing?” an enraged voice questioned.

He turned around, hands carefully circling the pie pan. It was still warm, and he’d eat his boot if it wasn’t enough to cheer Merlin up. 

“This… is for the queen.”

The cook gave him an odd look. “We don’t have a queen.”

Ah, right. Gwen wasn’t queen yet. He needed a new plan.

“I promised Guinevere some. You know how hard she works, and you know about her and Arthur…” he gave her a salacious wink, before bringing some sincerity into his tone. “I figured it would cheer her up.” There, it was close enough to the truth. He would offer Gwen a slice later just to make sure his cover wasn’t blown.

It appealed to the cook’s shared love of Gwen and, for the first time since Gwaine’s stay in Camelot became permanent, she allowed him to leave the kitchens with everything he carried.

He went as fast as humanly possible through the halls until he once again reached the physician’s chambers. He nudged open the door to Merlin’s room with his foot and presented the pie with a flourish.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon!” Merlin exclaimed, setting down the knife and wood, and then glancing at the pie. “Is that apple?”

“Your favorite.”

Merlin rubbed his hands together like a fly that just landed on a grape, before realizing they needed something to cut it with. He wiped his whittling knife off on his blanket and motioned Gwaine forward. The knight obliged, presenting the pie at Merlin’s side on one knee.

“I’ve never seen you act so proper. The pie deserves no less.” He cut into it, and a curling line of steam rose from the slice. “And it’s still warm! How did you manage this?”

“I… may have told her it was for the queen.”

Merlin paused with the slice halfway to his mouth. “We don’t have a queen.”

_“Yet.”_

Merlin looked at him, adorably bewildered. “Right.” He took a bite of the pie, and Gwaine actually found it funny that he was eating it with just his hands. In all his travels, he’d never seen someone eat a piece of pie like this. _Desperate times,_ he mused. Granted, pie was a delicacy in many places, so where there was pie, there was usually proper utensils. But then, maybe Merlin was just a messy eater. 

When Merlin took another bite, Gwaine was once again confused when he got some of the filling on the tip of his nose. Did no one teach this man how to eat? No wonder he always looked so malnourished. Gwaine dabbed at the point of Merlin’s nose with his sleeve and Merlin set his slice back in the pan to slap his arm away. For some reason he couldn’t explain, it reminded Gwaine of the dumplings in his pockets. Merlin’s face lit up when he saw them.

“I never get away with stealing those!”

“That’s because you’re not subtle. Here, take one.”

“I can’t,” he said, making a grabbing motion with his pie-covered hands.

Gwaine hummed. “Do you mind if I-” 

Merlin opened his mouth obligingly, and Gwaine held the dumpling in front of him. The younger man dove forward and Gwaine moved it away from him, just out of reach of his searching mouth. Said mouth gaped at him, as if there was no way he could have anticipated this move from Gwaine.

He gave Gwaine a death glare. “Do you want the pheasant or not?”

Gwaine fell folly to the threat with a huff and let Merlin take a bite. The raven-haired man moaned in pleasure and Gwaine realized that this was quickly turning into another kind of fun. He didn’t know how Merlin eating a dumpling could set a fire in his belly, but he was always full of surprises, wasn't he? 

Merlin spread his lips, asking for more, and Gwaine had to quell a moan of his own. Had he never handfed Merlin before? Wasn’t this something that friends without benefits did with each other? 

It helped nothing when Merlin finished chewing and swallowed obscenely, only to lick and suck the pie filling from each of his fingers, one by one. Why couldn’t he have done that in the first place?

Gwaine knew that Merlin meant nothing by it, and so he felt no small amount of shame for his reaction. Maybe Merlin craved the same intimacy that he did, but that did not mean he wanted to jump right to it. By all means, it seemed to be the opposite with him. Something was holding him back, though it intrigued and worried Gwaine far more than it frustrated him. Whatever it was, it was hurting Merlin somewhere Gwaine couldn’t reach, though not for lack of trying.

“You enjoy that, then?” He cleared his throat and readjusted his tunic. Licking his lips, he tasted the ghost of the pie’s sweet cinnamon filling on his tongue, just as it would be on Merlin’s… he quickly banished the thought. 

Merlin’s eyes widened when he realized the innuendo in Gwaine’s question, before he broke into a laugh. Gwaine always sought out that cheerful sound—all the more a shame that he hadn’t heard it in days. There was a flush on Merlin’s high-seated cheeks, making him look livelier than he had since the beginning of this whole mess. 

It was a disappointment when Merlin came down from whatever happy place his mind had gone, almost as soon as it started. His eyes went dull as he withdrew, reaching across to give Gwaine a friendly pat on his arm.

“Thank you again, Gwaine, the food was lovely. I’m sure you have someplace to be…”

“Yes, by your side, right where you want me.”

The mask fell from Merlin’s face. He turned away from Gwaine, as if unable to look him in the eyes. 

Gwaine didn’t feel guilty for pushing the boundaries of their ongoing conversation a little. It must have been bothering Merlin a great deal if he couldn’t get a little creative with his diversions, as he heard this one enough times now, and Gwaine was more determined than ever to show his unconditional support. 

“People often want what they can’t have.” Merlin said it dejectedly, almost as if it was rehearsed.

“I didn’t think I could make it any clearer than I already have, Merlin, but I’m open for the taking.”

“I wish it were that simple. Maybe one day…”

“One day,” Gwaine agreed. He hoped ‘one day’ would come soon. Tomorrow would be nice. But the realistic part of him knew that one night wouldn’t be enough for Merlin to open up to him. He couldn’t count on tomorrow, and he would be a fool to believe it could ever be so easy. 

But he would spend all the time he had in this world if it meant Merlin could trust him in return. A small part of him, the part that was surprised at Merlin’s kindness and camaraderie when they first met, feared that day would never come. His mouth fell into a stern, straight line. Gwaine had no reason to doubt Merlin. He just wished Merlin could see that, too.  
_____________________________

Though Gwen did not regret watching over Merlin the night before, it did not help the ache in her legs and back from the duties she spent all day catching up on. 

She had been grateful at the prospect of so much extra work at first, thinking it would take her mind off of Arthur’s disappearance and Merlin’s pain, only to find herself far removed from the world around her no matter how hard she worked. Every time her hands fell into a steady rhythm, the walls and floors faded into nothing more than a backdrop to her grief. Her eyes blurred, though there were no tears left in them. 

She couldn’t get any proper work done in such a state. Arthur was not dead, she would know if he was, but anything could be happening to him. Yes, Camelot needed him, but Gwen wanted him back with all her heart. It had been too long already, and she had half a mind to go out there herself, if she wasn’t already so preoccupied with running half the castle _and_ influencing council meetings. 

When she opened the door to her home, she found Gwaine passed out at her table. That was unusual, but not unheard of. Across from him was a slice of apple pie on a plate from her cupboard, and next to that was a note with her name on it. She picked up the note, recognizing Merlin’s handwriting from all the love letters Arthur had him write for her. Remembering Arthur made her heart ache again, as if a piece of it was missing, so she focused on reading it instead.

_Dearest Guinevere,_

_We found a treat as sweet as you! It’s not much, but it’s yours, from us._

_Love, Merlin and Gwaine_

Clichéd _and_ sentimental, just like the men who wrote it. It warmed her heart to know that they thought of her at all. They didn’t have to; knowing Gwaine, the pie had originally been for Merlin. But even in a time of crisis, they did not leave her out. 

Seeing them together as they had been recently was enough to brighten her dour mood. Gwaine’s mouth was not as loose as most thought, so she had no way of knowing if they had initiated a courtship yet, but they had each other either way. She was happy for them. 

Gwen, though… she had lost Arthur. Perhaps that was an unfair assessment, because everyone had lost Arthur, and she still had her friends, anyway. Yet she shared an intimacy with Arthur that rivaled no one else. She had inspired a passion in him against all odds, seen the impact she had on him up close, and he gave as much back to her in his unwavering support. They had to fight tooth and nail just to be _seen_ together, when all she wanted was to embrace how emboldened he made her feel with his open love—well, as open as they could be.

The first night after Arthur’s disappearance was the worst. Gwen had come to Merlin’s chambers in shambles and spent much of that night a mess of tears as she tried not to drift off in his bed. She knew he felt the same helplessness as she did, but somehow, he held it all back as soon as it was apparent that she needed him. It couldn’t have been very healthy to repress his natural reaction, whether he had faith in Arthur’s swift return or was in denial of the loss. Much the same way as she had poured herself into her work, Merlin had invested himself in her emotional distress. She sighed. Merlin was a kind soul, but he wasn’t exactly known for his emotional wisdom. A surge of guilt grew to prominence in her chest, which she tried to rationalize away. It was not her fault that Merlin dealt with emotions this way, and she was not taking advantage of the fact, either. She offered her hand to him in understanding, but he refused it. Still, a part of her had wanted to help him, to relate to him. He was the only one who could hope to understand how desperately she missed Arthur, and she knew somehow that they could bring him back. _How I want him back,_ she reminisced.

Her king knew the routes she usually took to perform her duties and would often visit to distract her from whichever task was at hand. He came under the guise of the king commanding a servant, as opposed to one he viewed as equal. But today, there had been no one to pull her aside, no smiles meant only for her, no risky kisses in empty corridors… and the workload had been heavy. 

That was how the future queen of Camelot was nearly brought to tears over a slice of apple pie. She couldn’t help it; even if it was a small gesture, and perhaps for that very reason, she knew how much they cared. Before she could get too emotional, she gently shook Gwaine’s shoulder to wake him and send him on his way.

“Gwen?” he asked groggily.

“It _is_ my house, Sir Gwaine.”

“Oh!” He jumped out of his chair despite his disorientation. “I’m sorry, princess, I didn’t mean to linger. But if I may ask, what took you so long?”

“With all the patrols heading out, it would’ve been impossible to finish early.” Their traitor regent hadn’t taken her advice after all, not that she was surprised. He likely meant to weaken Camelot’s defenses—why else should he ignore her advice despite the council’s agreement? She remembered Uther’s indifference to the dozens of knights slaughtered in the search for Morgana, and saw the same single-mindedness in Agravaine, though it was not for Arthur. To add insult to injury, the patrols had quite literally doubled her duties as a servant. How could she ever hope to be the queen that Arthur and her people needed if her leadership skills were deemed useless as she was?

Gwaine leveled her with a worried look, as if reading her thoughts. “You should get some sleep. Taking all that extra work onto your shoulders…”

“Yes, I suppose so,” she said, eyeing the apple pie. It had been a while since she last ate, and she couldn’t help licking her lips at the sight. 

“Enjoy the pie, princess. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I may be a knight, but I know how to scrub a floor as well as any servant.”

She smiled at the gesture as he went out the door. It was exactly what she hoped Arthur would grow into: treating her with respect even as a servant, dismissing his preconceived notions of nobility. Arthur wanted to make her a queen, but Gwaine already saw her as one. Gwen loved Arthur with all her heart, but he was an idiot. Not that she would ever say it to Merlin… he would never let Arthur live it down. 

But Arthur was mature enough to learn from his mistakes, and he could become a better king with time. For Gwen’s sake, he had tried to understand, and she appreciated that effort. He had a good heart and Gwen didn’t see that changing any time soon. No, that was one thing that would never change. She hoped to see him by her side again soon, and to remain there for the rest of their lives. 

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was shorter than usual (probably because it’s the happiest so far), but to make up for that, I am posting TWO today! What a life. Again, calm before the storm… there is a plot… somewhere…
> 
> Gwaine really planned to leave before Gwen even noticed the pie. What a disaster bi.


	6. Personal Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The plot picks up a bit more here, and so does the creepiness factor. 
> 
> Non-con touching and general discomfort, but no actual non-con.

Despite the events of the past few days, Camelot carried on as it always did. The usual bustle of the market square could be heard as far out as the border: laborers making their way to and fro, children innovating games from sticks and stones, villagers bartering for food and clothes. It was a common consensus that worry wouldn’t put food on the table, yet it was as if the soul of the kingdom had been sucked dry. 

The knights—Agravaine’s men, now—who patrolled the city now caused friction with even the least suspect of citizens. Too many were drunk on the newfound pride and power they’d been granted; beatings and other abuses were starting to become commonplace. People were taken in at random for questioning and there was no telling how long they would be held for, or in what condition they’d be returned. The streets, normally loud and cheerful at the height of the day, were now sunken in silence and dread. 

Gwaine never wanted to serve a fear-mongering bootstain like Agravaine. It was beyond him how any true knight of Camelot could follow such corrupt orders only because the traitor was next in line, so he felt no shame when he left his post to find where Merlin had gotten off to.

He spared but a moment for the thought that maybe Merlin would rather not see him, but just because they had something standing between them didn’t mean they weren’t still friends. More than anything, he wanted to break the younger man out of his despondent mood, and he could set aside their differences for a chance at that.

Gwaine had fallen asleep at Merlin’s bedside once again, and woken up to a pair of watchful eyes and a sleepy smile. Of course, they disappeared before Gwaine was entirely conscious, leaving behind that same thin veneer of detachment. He was getting used to being practically shooed out of the room at this point, though as he left, Gaius informed him with a friendly smile that Merlin would be off bed rest by the time he returned. 

As it turned out, Merlin was a difficult man to find. He was not in his chambers—neither was Gaius, for that matter—and no one Gwaine asked had seemed to know where he could’ve gone. It reminded him of their search for Arthur just days before, which only increased his worry. Gwaine found himself wandering around the city alone, still in uniform, asking anyone he knew for Merlin’s whereabouts. It didn’t occur to him until much later on that he might not get the most honest of answers while in his armor. These were Merlin’s friends, too, and Gwaine didn’t think they would sell him out if they thought he was in trouble. The knight stopped in his tracks, palming the stress lines out of his forehead. All the misfortune this job had gotten him… If they didn’t find Arthur soon, he was going to resign his knighthood.

Above him, a sign that read _The Rising Sun_ clanked back and forth with the breeze. It couldn’t hurt to check the tavern. Just because Gwaine was watching his drinking habits didn’t mean Merlin had to, certainly not at a time like this.

He stepped inside, but as he did so the boisterous, drunken conversation that had filled the room only moments ago quieted into an unwelcoming murmur. Men and women and the bartender Lark, who Gwaine knew was neither, glared at him from both sides of the aisle. He sighed; he hadn’t come here to intimidate more people. Taking an open seat at the bar, he removed a heavy coin purse from his belt, holding it up so the entire tavern could see.

“This knight is _off duty._ Drinks are on me, people!”

A loud cheer filled the tavern at his announcement; he smiled, pleased to settle some of the loose nerves that these people came here to drink away. He slid the purse across the bar to Lark, who dumped it on the counter to check how much it would actually cover. 

“Don’t worry too much if it’s not enough. You know I always pay up.”

Lark gave him a stern look, one perfect, prim eyebrow raised to their hairline.

“Eventually,” he allowed, to which he was rewarded with a smirk and a wink. 

“I knew this little drought of yours wouldn’t last, Sir Gwaine.”

Gwaine gave them a mock-offended look. “Who, me?” He let them finish laughing before leaning in a little closer. “I didn’t stop by for a drink, though. I’m looking for someone.”

“Is it Merlin?”

“Yeah, it’s Merlin.” He really was that obvious, huh?

“Well, I reckon you know where he’s at better ‘an I do.” 

Gwaine winced and nodded in silent disappointment. “Thanks anyway.” He got up to leave, but not before Lark gave him a helpful piece of advice.

“People have been in and out for questioning the past three days now. Maybe you should ask your fellow knights.”

His armor hid well the shudder the words sent through him. It had been yet another day since he last saw Merlin, but he had only just gotten him back from the hands of the traitors. He couldn’t be back so soon, and it was unheard of to release a prisoner only to bring him down a second time.

Gwaine was more worried about his ever-elusive friend than he let on, though Merlin seemed to think he let on more than enough. He got a peaceful rest the night that Gwen joined him, but Gwaine could tell from the spare glances he got in the corridors that the dark circles under Merlin’s eyes were more pronounced than ever before. He wasn’t sleeping, or if he was, then it must have been riddled with nightmares. He obviously wasn’t eating well, either, and Gwaine knew exactly who to blame. The idea of Merlin being apprehended by Agravaine _again,_ when he still wouldn’t tell Gwaine what happened the first time… thoughts of Merlin, scared witless and all the while wondering what happened to Arthur, assailed him. Arthur was everything to Merlin. Gwaine had followed him into the Perilous Lands for that very reason, and he would do so again if he must.

His task suddenly seemed far more urgent.

“Thank you. I’ll just be on my way then.”

“Shall I send the bill to you?” Lark yelled.

But Gwaine was already out the door.  
______________________

Every part of Merlin’s being yearned to ride out and find Arthur himself, but here he was yet again, sitting in his chambers staring out the window at nothing in particular while Gaius busied about. Despite being allowed off bed rest, there was still little for Merlin to do. He wanted to apply himself to something besides the mortar and pestle, but fate had other plans for the anxious warlock. 

The truth was, he had no idea what happened to his friend, much less how to help him. If the knights didn’t find him soon, he would have to settle for summoning Kilgharrah. Dangerous it may be with so many knights about, not to mention Gaius, but he decided long ago what he was willing to risk for Arthur.

 _Arthur is gone._ He didn’t know how, but he knew the king wasn’t in Camelot. The absence struck Merlin like that mace to his chest, and he still felt an ache there from the recent memory, made prominent by the even more recent abuse. Arthur had taken care of him then, protected him, just as Merlin always saved Arthur from certain death… as he always would. Merlin wouldn’t accept anything less, no matter who he had to face. He paused what he was doing at the thought of his last conversation—if he could call it that—with Agravaine, rubbing at his injured shoulder as he often did these days.

Gaius must have asked him if he was alright, because a second later there was a comforting hand on his arm and a heavy look of concern directed at him. Merlin didn’t answer, only staring at his mentor with glossed-over eyes. He couldn’t explain it, but he had a feeling that whatever comfort Gaius could offer would be short-lived.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of knocking on the chamber door. Merlin raised his head up curiously, propping himself onto his elbows where he was situated on the cot. Elyan let himself in, followed by—no, not this knight again. It couldn’t be, because that would mean… 

With a tone of apology and a nod of his head, Elyan announced, “Merlin, Lord Agravaine requests your presence.”

_Not again, not again, not again-_

Gaius looked on in alarm. “Surely, whatever it is can wait? I need Merlin here for-“

“Agravaine is the regent to the king,” the blonde knight said—Merlin never learned his name, despite their long hours together. “You will come with us,” he said, moving forward to grasp Merlin’s arm a lot harder than necessary. 

“Please, he’s already been taken in once. He’s just a boy!”

Two more knights came up from behind Elyan and the knight holding Merlin. 

“The old man, too.” 

Gaius was taken away roughly by his forearm.

“Gaius!” Merlin yelled, even as he was yanked after his old uncle, just steps behind but nevertheless a distance he couldn’t close. Merlin suppressed the urge to flee. That’s what he told himself, at least, as his body went pliant and he let the cruel knight string him along through the halls. Gaius and Merlin were the only two who Agravaine knew had accused him. And if the traitor wanted to control one of them, he only needed to hold the other captive. It was a stroke of luck that he didn’t suspect Gwen’s involvement. She would be safe for now, or so Merlin hoped.

Elyan was holding his injured arm, which was still in a makeshift sling, much more gently than the knight at his right, who he spoke to sternly. “Be careful with him, he’s already injured. We don’t need to make matters worse.” 

To be honest, Merlin was grateful that he had even _one_ defender at the moment.

“Why do you care? The boy is just a servant,” the other knight rebutted.

Just one. Merlin sighed.

However, this knight did not seem to realize that he was talking to one of Arthur’s common-borns, and he certainly did not know about Elyan’s servant sister, soon to be queen. And he definitely didn’t know that Merlin was a friend to Elyan, though not as much as he was to Gwen.

Elyan held himself together better than Merlin would have, had their situations been reversed. “He is a loyal servant of the royal household. You will escort him with care.” The _or else_ went unsaid.

Merlin had to fight a smile at the undercurrent of authority Elyan put into his voice. He had a sudden confidence that, if Elyan was taking him anywhere, then it would not be to another day of mindless torture.

Gaius went willingly in front of him, but once they reached the dungeons, he was made to take a different route while Merlin was forced into the same chilly, private cell as he was only days before. There were no windows or even bars—just a plain door to cut him off from the outside. He knew that Agravaine could do anything to him in this room without anyone knowing, but he trusted El. The blonde knight, who was most distinguishable by his clear anger issues, unceremoniously shoved Merlin through the door and onto the hard floor. The cell door slammed shut behind him with a resounding bang.

Merlin stood up as quickly as he could with one arm, a grunt escaping him at the twinge of new bruises, and brushed the dirt off his clothes. He visibly jumped when he finally noticed Agravaine watching him, seated on the other side of a hardwood table at the center of the room. That hadn’t been there last time. _How strange. Should I care about that?_ There was a thick stack of parchments sitting next to him, full of questions and suspicions he’d surely fabricated. 

The warlock’s eyes strayed against his will towards the far end of his cell, where a pair of empty shackles hung. Merlin only hoped they would remain that way. He shuddered, rubbing unconsciously at the bandaged welts on his wrists. But it seemed that today was going to be different. The traitor motioned for Merlin to sit in a second chair across from him; he did not oblige, back rigid as an iron rod. 

Agravaine didn’t seem to mind this streak of defiance as much as he did last time, and that was somehow more worrying than the predictable violence of before. 

“Good morning, Merlin. I do hope my knights were not too rough with you.” The smirk in his voice betrayed the seeming innocence of the words. 

“What have you done with Gaius?” Merlin stared daggers at the man, pressing his fingers into the joint of his aching shoulder. 

Agravaine did not answer. Instead, he got up out of his chair and strode to Merlin’s side of the room. The warlock made an effort not to flinch away as Agravaine moved behind him and, with a hand on either shoulder, forced Merlin down into the chair. Rather than removing his hands entirely, Agravaine made quick work of the red scarf that he was rarely seen without. He shivered when the man’s fingers caressed his neck, unsure if the touch was intentional. Merlin’s neck was soon bared to the cold, stale air of the dungeons. His jacket was next to go and, unfortunately, the tunic underneath did not provide much protection from the chill prickling his skin. 

If anyone had been watching, Merlin would have cared more about how he squirmed at the man’s touch until a harsh squeeze to his injured shoulder stifled his movements with a cry. His clothes were discarded to the ground like old rags. 

“You must be in immense pain,” Agravaine purred in his ear. “Perhaps I can help with that.” Merlin was not prepared for the man to begin massaging his shoulders, with only the thin layer of his tunic separating them. It was a sick mockery of a healing gesture; the man’s fingers pressed far too hard, and it was not as if sore muscles were the source of his discomfort. With every movement, his injuries were jostled and he was assailed by a shock of pain. A chill ran through him and decided to take permanent residence, raising his flesh and awakening every survival instinct he had. It took a momentous effort to stay stock-still through his silent ordeal. There was no telling what the man would do if he moved and all the while he wished that he could defend himself against it. His eyes shut almost of their own accord, knowing that if he was caught doing even reflexive magic, he would never be able to find Arthur. It was not worth revealing his true identity or, worse yet, getting himself accused of Arthur’s disappearance. But if it came to that…

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” the traitor whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.” As if deciding that Merlin had had enough, he paused in his ministrations and returned to his seat, resuming his earlier facade. “But if you do not answer the questions, I fear that my duty to this kingdom overrules all personal stakes.”

There were questions last time, too, and the traitor had tried to twist the answers out of him. _No, he didn’t know who Emrys was. He had no idea which key belonged to the map of the siege tunnels, or why it had been moved right before his disappearance. Morgana’s plans were more of a mystery to him than to Agravaine._

That last one earned him an especially heinous hit to the ribs.

“I am truly sorry for what transpired at our last meeting. But as long as you cooperate, we will not need to resort to such measures. Will you answer the questions?”

Merlin gulped. “Regarding?” 

“The disappearance of my nephew, of course.”

Merlin stared at Agravaine in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious. They both knew that Agravaine was behind Arthur’s disappearance, but the other man paid this no heed and continued. “I understand that you were the last person to be seen with Arthur before the disappearance. Was Arthur acting any… different from his usual?”

Merlin couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“Merlin, I will need you to speak up.”

He couldn’t speak at all, in fact.

_“Merlin, cooperate.”_

In a moment of abject fury, Agravaine reached towards him as if to grip his throat. Merlin shrank back, but the man—regent, he reminded himself—seemed to come back to his senses and stopped, closing his outstretched fingers into a fist and tapping it against the table, then offered a not very comforting smile. In all the time Agravaine had been in Camelot, Merlin had never seen his temper slip so clearly, not even during the last interrogation, where the man had been deceptively calm. Perhaps this is what he was like without any eyes on him.

“You have no reason to resist. You will only make this harder on yourself.”

Agravaine couldn’t be more wrong. He would never tell the man anything that could endanger his home or his friends.

“Merlin, will you answer the question?”

“What have you done with Gaius?” It came out more choked up than he’d hoped for. 

Agravaine sighed. “As long as Gaius remains a suspect, I’m afraid he must be kept under watch at all times. If you wish to visit his cell-”

“So you’ve jailed him?” Merlin said aghast. “For how long?”

“For as long as he is a suspect.”

“But-”

“You can return to your chambers soon as long as you cooperate, or if you insist on hindering the investigation, I can bring Gaius in for questioning instead. The choice is in your hands, Merlin.”

The edges of the room were starting to blur. Tears, Merlin realized, forcing himself to calm down. For Arthur, and for Gaius. He would never condemn Gaius to any of Agravaine’s mind games and torture, even if the elder was at full health, which he most definitely was not. He would just have to avoid giving the traitor any valuable information. “What was the question?”

_“Was there anything wrong with Arthur the last time you saw him?”_

Merlin bristled at the impatient tone. “He was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

The man sneered. “Very good. Now, it is my understanding that you and the witch Morgana were once close—perhaps in league?”

Had Morgana told him to say that or was he just pulling at threads? It was difficult to tell.

“Morgana used to be a wonderful person,” Merlin answered. “She was admired by everyone.”

“I’m sure she was, before her magic so cruelly snatched her from you.” Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes while Agravaine blathered on. “But you also affiliate yourself with another who was involved with sorcery—you consider yourself his apprentice, even. And you sit here now asking how he fares.”

“But he’s not-“

“Furthermore, we must put your outspoken sympathy for the Druids under deeper scrutiny…” 

“How would you even know-“

The man cut him off with a scandalized look. “And if that weren’t enough, you both knew of the sorcerer who killed Uther. This refusal to condemn magic makes you and Gaius highly suspect, I’m afraid.”

All of his pain was forgotten in an instant. “The Druids are no longer persecuted under Arthur. That can’t possibly be proof of anything.”

“Merlin, you must cooperate. Tell the truth and you may return to your home.”

Merlin did roll his eyes this time. “What do you want me to say?”

Agravaine shuffled through the papers in front of him. “You failed to show up for work on the morning of Arthur’s disappearance.”

“That’s not true. I mean, I overslept, but I still showed up.”

“The king’s own servant overslept? Do you have proof of this?”

“Proof that I overslept?”

“That you came to the king’s chambers late. Answer the question, boy.”

He had to think for a second, but an alibi came to him. “The cook knows when I took the king’s breakfast. I left it on the table in Arthur’s room. And I checked back in the kitchen later to find out if anyone had seen him.”

“You conducted a search of your own?”

“I just asked around, but he was nowhere to be found.”

“I see. You worry for the king, do you not?”

The sudden personal turn took Merlin by surprise. “Of course. He is our king,” he said. _He’s my friend,_ he thought, but he was not going to tell Agravaine that.

“You honor and respect your king.”

“Yes?” This response seemed to please Agravaine.

“Merlin, I did not call you in today just to question you.”

The servant could not guess what was in store for him, and that scared him more than the clear threat of torture did. “Then what for?”

“Why, it must have occurred to you that your duties as your leader’s serf would not just end when Arthur disappeared.”

What- was he implying that-

_No. He couldn’t._

“You are to start as my own personal servant until the time of Arthur’s return. Of course, you will be given a new wardrobe—I’m afraid your usual attire will not do—but you will serve your regent just as you served your king, or suffer the consequences.” 

The traitor smiled at the horrified expression on Merlin’s face and pulled out a chest that had been hidden under the table the entire time. “These will have to be worn for your first few days of service, but more will be provided.”

Then, setting the box on the table, he unlatched it and removed a fine, deep green tunic with matching breeches. It looked as if a pattern of weaving vines and thorns had been embroidered on with spun gold. Why on Earth would Agravaine go through the trouble of getting him this? He didn’t actually think he could buy Merlin’s loyalty, did he? Wait, how did he know his measurements—actually, Merlin didn’t want the answer to that.

He looked up at Agravaine in confusion. “If you suspect me, then why would you want me to be your servant? Why aren’t I being jailed with Gaius?”

Agravaine opened his mouth and shut it again like a fish on a snare. Merlin didn’t understand why this was the question that seemed to back him into a corner, but it didn’t take long to get a response. 

“Whether you are guilty or not, the questioning must be conducted without bias. You might find this to be an opportunity to prove yours and Gaius’ innocence.”

Then Agravaine got up, the new tunic and breeches in hand, and circled back to his side of the table. “Before you go, Merlin, we need to make sure your uniform won’t be needing any alterations.” He looked the boy up and down expectantly. Merlin stared at him just the same, waiting for him to explain. Seeing that Merlin hadn’t understood the unspoken words, he reached out and began to undo the belt that Merlin kept tied around his waist.

“Wha- what is this?” Merlin screeched as he tried to scramble away, only to be met by the hard back of his chair.

The traitor smiled down, unaffected by the struggling of the form beneath him. “From here on out you will not be seen in these rags you call clothes.”

Merlin squinted at him. That had been just plain insulting. 

Agravaine made quick work of the belt and began to work on pulling the tunic over his head. Merlin’s shirt hadn’t even been off for a second before he was being yanked up from under his armpits. The pressure on his injuries shocked a cry from him as he was forced into standing. His socks were next, and then his boots which took a little longer, what with all their buckles, but it wasn’t long before those hated hands were at his waist, fingers searching for the band of his breeches, and then those too were roughly taken from him. 

He was left shivering in the middle of the room, naked except for his underthings, and feeling more vulnerable than a newborn fawn on shaking legs. Agravaine seemed shocked at the scars that littered Merlin’s chest, though maybe he hadn’t seen them during the last interrogation. Arthur’s increasingly easy-to-hate uncle looked to be enjoying the sight an uncomfortable amount. Merlin crossed his arms over his chest unthinkingly, though it hardly warmed him up.

“Go on, Merlin. The tunic first. Let me help you.”

Merlin didn’t have the option to reject his help, or else he would’ve made his feelings well-known. The man looked at him again, clearly conveying that he should make this easier on himself. Merlin hesitantly uncrossed his arms so that an undershirt could be slipped over his head. The hem was at his waist where it belonged, but his helper’s hands hadn’t moved from the spot, and were in fact pressing harder into the flesh there. He squirmed in his grip, unable to turn back to look at where the man was standing behind him, which was far too close for any semblance of comfort. 

None too soon, the hands were put to better use in helping him put the trousers on. Merlin gratefully relished the warmth as it returned to his legs, feeling altogether less vulnerable than he had a moment before. But his relief was short-lived as he processed the tight, foreign clothes which now clung to his frame. He felt shame curdle beneath his rib cage and cast his eyes down to his bare feet. 

“Perfect,” Agravaine said, now standing before him to look at the tight fit of the clothes… rather too intently.

Merlin bent down to put his old boots back on, but Agravaine stopped him with a hand to his wrist and pulled a new pair out of the bottom of the chest where they had been wrapped up and hidden from view. They were a deep brown leather with the same golden tendrils running through them as the rest of his outfit, far too rich of a make for just any servant. 

Finally, Agravaine ended his scrutiny and opened the door. There had been no guards there, interestingly enough. “You may take your leave now, but I expect to see you tomorrow morning.” With that, he left Merlin all alone in the dank, little cell.

Merlin picked up his old clothes and held them tight to his chest before he steeled himself and left the dungeons. He would sneak back down soon enough if things went according to plan.  
______________________

Gwaine wasted no time getting back to the citadel. The streets had parted for the knight, but still it felt like an eternity before he made it there. He needed to find Merlin as soon as possible, but finding a guard who was not already occupied would be difficult. What a miracle it was when he caught sight of Elyan after hardly taking a step inside the citadel. The other knight turned around and, seeing Gwaine, waved him over.

“Well met, Elyan!” Gwaine said. “We need to talk.”

“Likewise, my friend.” He put a grounding hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Agravaine has Merlin again. I was ordered to help escort him to the dungeons. I couldn’t do anything to stop it, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t risk endangering Gwen, and Agravaine knows we’re siblings-”

Gwaine felt every last hope in his body flee. “It’s not your fault. You were chosen for a reason, I’ll wager. You’re Merlin’s friend, too.”

Elyan nodded in contemplation, though it was easy to tell he was still guilt-ridden. Gwaine knew how grateful the knight was to Merlin for saving his sister from Uther’s wrath. Agravaine would do anything to secure the helplessness of those who opposed him, and that meant subjugating anyone who so much as looked at Merlin without hate. He wondered briefly if that was why Merlin had kept his distance of late, but if that was the case, Merlin would have told him outright rather than neglect him. 

Gwaine needed to know more about the situation at hand, though. “How long has he been down there?”

“Over an hour. It all happened so suddenly. I’ve been waiting for him or Agravaine to come up, but… nothing yet. ”

“Thank you, El.” He patted Elyan’s shoulder and rushed past him towards the dungeons. The only thoughts comforting him were of breaking Merlin out with the sword at his side. 

He was so caught up in these thoughts that he didn’t realize that he passed Agravaine going the other way until the man was already too far gone. Gwaine gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and took off at a brisk pace towards the dungeons. If anything had happened to Merlin, so help him—

A nervous heap of servant flew into Gwaine from around the corner, almost knocking him off his feet. Whatever Merlin was holding flew from his grasp as he tumbled down. Gwaine had only a second to wrap a protective arm around Merlin’s waist to stop him from hitting the floor, using his strength to quickly pull the other man up to him. This left them standing upright, pressed nose to nose and chest to chest. 

Luckily, they were alone in the hallway.

Merlin groaned, probably from the pain of whatever Agravaine had done to him. They separated before things got too uncomfortable. _Or too comfortable,_ Gwaine could admit to himself, just not outloud.

Merlin started to speak, cleared his throat, and then tried again. “Gwaine. What are you doing here?”

“Just… looking for you.”

“Well, you found me.”

“I see that. Are you alright?”

“Um…” Merlin had stooped over to pick up the clothes he was carrying before they quite literally ran into each other. 

Wait, his clothes… what the hell was Merlin wearing? Not that Gwaine was complaining, but it certainly wasn’t his usual, which was scattered across the hall at the moment. Why would he be carrying that after coming up from an interrogation?

“Here, let me get that for you,” Gwaine offered. He didn’t want Merlin using his bad shoulder unless it was to eat or get into bed. He took the clothes from his friend’s hands. If Gwaine were less attentive, he may not have noticed their shaking, but Gwaine always noticed even the most minuscule things about Merlin. 

He found Merlin’s red scarf and handed it back to him. “Here, put this back on. You look half-frozen to death.”

Merlin looked at it distractedly. “It doesn’t really go with the outfit.” 

“Yeah, and if I may ask, what exactly brought about the wardrobe change?”

His friend looked about ready to collapse, and Gwaine would be sure to catch him if he fell. Merlin had been returned to them mere days ago in a frightening condition: fractured ribs, chafed wrists, an injured shoulder, among other sporadic wounds. The only positive of the past few days was that Merlin had the time off to heal from what their regent had inflicted. Yet another reason to be grateful that Arthur wasn’t there to do his usual, annoying Arthur things. But now Merlin had been taken in yet again, without a bruise on him. Not any new ones, anyway… to his knowledge. 

Gwaine didn’t want to think about why he didn’t have his own clothes on, but he knew it must be important. “How about we take these,” he motioned to the clothes in his arms, “to wherever you need to take them. And then we’ll get you some food.”

Merlin looked around anxiously. “I really shouldn’t be-”

“Nonsense,” Gwaine interrupted his rambling. “You obviously need a day to go out and relax. Come on.” He held a hand out for Merlin to take and gave him an encouraging smile. 

Merlin hesitated, but then smiled and took it. “Alright. Just let me get these to my chambers-“

“So you’re not taking them to the wash, I gather.”

Merlin’s hand was getting sweaty in his, which wouldn’t have been so odd if he wasn’t shivering all the while. “It’s- I’ll explain later. Let’s just go.”

They were halfway there before Gwaine realized their hands were still clasped together. He thought that maybe he should let go—the castle was full of loose lips after all—but he found that he was unable to do it. He grasped the hand a little tighter at the realization, and then thought he felt a light squeeze back. It must have just been his imagination; sobriety played tricks on the mind, didn’t it?

By the time they arrived at Merlin’s chambers, there were only two hours or so before sunset. They went up the few steps to his room where Gwaine set the clothes down on Merlin’s bed as directed. The servant turned to him, awkward and discomfited as usual.

“Thank you for accompanying me, but I have to find Gaius….”

“Shouldn’t he be coming home soon?”

Merlin shook his head silently. Something was wrong, and Gwaine had his suspicions.

“Wait, Agravaine didn’t…” Gwaine fumbled for the right words and came up with nothing, “…did he?”

Merlin’s eyes flicked from Gwaine, to the door of his room, and finally to the window. He latched the door shut and sat upon the bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before telling Gwaine what he’d already expected. “He locked Gaius away as a suspect. I don’t even know what cell they’re holding him in, I just need to make sure he’s alright.”

Merlin didn’t confide in him often, not without Gwaine pushing a little. That was Merlin through and through: always taking care of everyone else’s problems with no room for himself. It was easy for Gwaine to see that if the servant was this open about his worry for Gaius, there must have been something else on his mind—something else that he was less willing to admit.

“Merlin, what happened to you? I haven’t seen you in hours.”

“Huh,” he shrugged, “it didn’t feel like I was gone for that long.”

Gwaine sat down right next to him and gently pulled Merlin’s hands between his own. “Come on, you can talk to me. In fact, I might be the one person you can talk to without reporting straight to his royal highness.”

It failed to rouse a real smile, but Merlin tried for him anyways. “He didn’t hurt me. Not much, anyways,” he corrected, remembering the baffling start of his interrogation. He shuddered; Gwaine couldn’t help noticing.

“There’s something else, though. What aren’t you telling me?”

Merlin sighed, resigning himself to Gwaine’s protective instincts. “Agravaine… asked me questions.”

“Questions?”

“Alright, poorly disguised threats. He means to accuse Gaius and I if I don’t _cooperate.”_ The last word was said in disgust and more than a little bitterness. Gwaine pondered for a second what that word could’ve possibly done to his friend before its meaning occurred to him.

“Cooperate? Cooperate with what?”

“Apparently, he thinks he’s inherited me from Arthur.”

That truly made Gwaine pause. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Merlin shrugged, despite the pain it must have caused him, for the sake of being cynical. “He made me his personal servant. I start tomorrow.”

“You… you can’t agree to that. You’re not some heirloom to be passed around.”

“Our new ruler doesn’t seem to agree.” He laughed humorlessly. “I can’t risk disobeying him with Gaius in the dungeons.”

“Your clothes…” As much as he didn’t want to believe it, things were starting to make sense.

“I’m not allowed to wear them anymore, I suppose,” he said, looking longingly at his neckerchief. “It’s not appropriate.”

Gwaine shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. What could he possibly want with you?”

“I don’t know, maybe he wants to keep an eye on me?”

“Or he just enjoys the power. All men like him do.”

“Or, it’s part of Morgana’s revenge. But I don’t have a choice if I want to protect Gaius.”

“And what happens if you don’t meet his expectations?”

“…Hopefully it never comes to that.”

Gwaine had heard enough. “We need to get you out of the city,” he said, stumbling around Merlin’s messy room to find his travel bag. “We’ll get Gaius and be gone by first light.” 

“And what? Abandon Arthur, leave Camelot to Morgana’s mercy?”

“That’s not your responsibility, you’re not a knight.”

“I can’t leave, Gwaine.”

“Why not?” he asked, already shoving Merlin’s clothes into the bag. “If we leave, we can go out and find Arthur ourselves!”

“Because if I go, Agravaine will blame me and Gaius for Arthur’s disappearance. And if you disappear with me, they won’t stop hunting either of us. I won’t involve you in this.”

Gwaine dropped the bag. “Then what are you going to do? Serve the man who took Arthur until Morgana takes over Camelot again?”

“I don’t want to! But…”

“But what?”

“Arthur isn’t here. He didn’t get lost in the woods or taken by bandits. Agravaine did something to him. Why would he be sending out search parties if he thought they would find something? He’s just keeping up appearances.”

“All the more reason to get you out of here. He may be a mad man, but he has the entire kingdom in his grasp. He’s just going to use you. And when you’re not useful to him anymore…” Gwaine couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he deeply feared for Merlin’s life. 

“Look, the sooner we get Arthur back, the sooner we can put this behind us. Getting close to Agravaine might be the only way to find out what’s happened.”

Gwaine resisted the urge to punch something—he truthfully didn’t want to get violent around Merlin after who-knows-what had been done to him. “There has to be another way.”

“And if there isn’t?”

“He’s going to hurt you! I can’t stand by and let that happen again.”

Now it was Merlin’s turn to look worried. “Gwaine, this isn’t your fault. Nobody could have known this would happen. But if you really want to help, just… being here is more than enough.”

Gwaine didn’t believe that his presence was “enough” for someone to withstand torture of all kinds, but he let Merlin keep talking.

“Really, it is! You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll tell you if I get into trouble, alright?”

It wasn’t good enough, not when Merlin’s life and spirit were in danger. But Gwaine knew he couldn’t make Merlin do what he wanted, and he understood why. If they ran, they’d be found in a heartbeat and executed without a fair trial. Running was the only plan Gwaine had, but this time it wouldn’t work. Not if he couldn’t take Merlin with him. And he had to admit, Merlin’s compromise was a lot better than nothing—that is, if he could trust Merlin to actually tell him when he needed help. But no matter what he had to do, he was determined to get Merlin out of this.  
______________________

Sneaking past a sleeping Gwaine proved harder than sneaking into the dungeons, which was about as easy as usual, especially with the few guards present on such high alert. Eager for action, they left their posts to find the source of whatever magic had lit all of the torch fires to the ceiling. Merlin smirked and extinguished them all in synch, effectively stealing the guards’ sight. It was so easy to divert them when he needed to most.

On another level, he pitied the knights. Yes, he knew that they would kill him if he was discovered, and he knew they were currently working under Agravaine’s orders, but they had probably become soldiers to provide for their families or for the honor of protecting the kingdom. They weren’t getting much of either right now, especially while they chased imaginary shadows down a hallway where they couldn’t see their own hands in front of their faces. They really didn’t know any better, Merlin mused. No matter; that stupidity worked in his favor. 

He descended the stairs carefully, grabbing a torch from a spot where it wouldn’t be missed. The guard room was empty when he passed it. Probably the men that would have been there were out on patrols looking for their king. How could Agravaine be so foolish as to leave an angry mob unguarded right under his feet?

The dungeons were expansive—they needed to be under Uther’s rule—but not every cell was occupied just now. Merlin was passing cells that held as many as six people at a time. Whatever reason Agravaine had for packing so many prisoners together like that, it couldn’t have been good. He wondered if he would even see Gaius in the crowds. But it was much easier to find his uncle than he thought; Gaius practically leapt through the bars of his cell when he came close enough to see his nephew’s face. Merlin wanted to hug him more than anything, but it was impossible through the iron bars. 

“Merlin!” It was just a whisper, but in that moment it was the only sound that reached Merlin’s ears.

“Gaius, are you alright?”

“Am I alright? I feared Agravaine was keeping you for interrogation.”

“I was released hours ago,” he said, suddenly very grateful that the darkness of the cells made his new clothes less distinguishable from his usual tunic and trousers. 

Gaius didn’t take notice. “Oh, my boy, it’s good to see you.”

“I couldn’t get down here soon enough, it’s been complete chaos up there. They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“I haven’t received any special attention, though I dare say that’s more than you can say for yourself.”

“Yeah, we’ll get to that in a moment,” Merlin said as he pulled a small satchel out of his jacket and unwrapped from it a small loaf of bread, an apple, and some dried venison. Preserved meats were being overproduced ever since half of Camelot’s knights were sent out on those empty-handed searches. Travel food was an absolute necessity in uncertain circumstances and he was all too happy to sneak some for Gaius. 

“I figured they haven’t been feeding you. I’m sorry that I didn’t bring enough to go around,” he said, looking guiltily away from Gaius’ cellmates who were probably just as starved as he was, but without someone like Merlin to get them any food. 

“You’ve done all that you could. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Gaius was getting old; it was an unavoidable fact. He couldn’t handle this kind of treatment the same way Merlin could. Terror tugged at the younger man’s heart, but he pushed it back down. Gaius was going to be fine. Merlin would take care of him to the best of his ability. 

He looked at the other occupants of the cell, who were mostly asleep against the far wall. The few that were awake and interested when he first came down had joined the rest in the filthy heap of hay they were given to sleep on. A couple of children were nestled against a parent’s bosom. Their inattention was good at least; he didn’t want an audience for the conversation he was about to have. 

“I would break you out if I could, but Agravaine would only accuse us. It’s too dangerous, I won’t endanger you.”

“I figured as much. Don’t do anything stupid, Merlin. You keep your head down until this passes over.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “I can’t exactly do that, either.” He’d spare Gaius the details, but he needed to know what was happening. “Agravaine has made me his personal servant until Arthur comes back. I don’t know what to do.”

Gaius’ reaction was instant. He shut his eyes slowly, the breath knocked out of him, and sank to the ground. Merlin tried to follow him and support him through the bars, but he only succeeded in sparing his mentor’s knees a little. 

When Gaius spoke again, it was with a sickly sort of conviction. “You cannot serve that man under any circumstances. If you have just a sliver of self-preservation, you’ll leave and take your friends with you while they’re still free.”

Merlin took in a deep breath. “I start in the morning. Wish me luck.”

“Merlin, please, you don’t know what he’s capable of. He had a terrible reputation among servants even before Ygraine’s death. It hardly bears thinking of!” Gaius grabbed at the bars desperately, as though it could sway Merlin from his path. 

“I know that he’s behind Arthur’s disappearance. This might be my only way to bring him back.”

“My heart won’t be able to take it if something happens to you.”

“And I can’t take seeing you like this. None of it will stop until Arthur is found. I have to take the risk.”

Gaius didn’t respond. Merlin looked at him and saw that he had stilled considerably, breathing deeply with his eyes shut. He waited a few more minutes, but Gaius had nothing to say to him. That was alright. Merlin was happy just to be near him at this point. But unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to be late attending Agravaine in the morning. 

“Goodnight, Gaius,” he whispered, ready to leave his mentor to get what little peace he could get before the morning came.

Gaius was still present enough to respond, though. “Don’t be afraid to do what you must. Take care of yourself, my boy.”

There was a short time where neither man spoke, and then Merlin reached out to him again.

“Gaius?”

But Gaius stayed silent. Hesitantly, Merlin returned to his chambers and fell into the dark relief of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It was about time for Gaius to make his debut! We’ll be seeing more of Elyan in future chapters :-) And sorry, no Gwen in this one :-( We’ll see her again soon, though. Hopefully they don’t get themselves into too much trouble.


	7. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin starts his new job, Gwen is more than a little concerned. Elyan gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: TW for description of attempted non-con.

Morning came again and had Merlin blinking up blearily at his bare ceiling. With his eyes half-lidded, he followed the meandering of a red beetle as it crawled over the smooth surface. He wondered how it was that those small, spindly legs could support the bulk of its body, and how the appendages managed to grip the minute imperfections in the wood and stone of his chambers. What did the Earth Goddess have in mind when she crafted this little creature? How was a being so small meant to carry all that weight without falling to its death? 

He realized belatedly that he was feeling more than curiosity for the bug. He sighed as it skittered on its merry way, wishing silently that he could do the same, and then unwrapped the blanket from around his body. It was still early, so he would not be due at his new employer’s side for at least another hour yet. The clothes he was given were rumpled from sleep, and though he wanted to leave them that way out of spite, he thought better of it and used a quick spell to remove the wrinkles. 

He rolled over a smidge to look out his window, only to find Gwaine leaning out, overlooking the city as it woke. Merlin froze, having forgotten that the other man had stayed the night again, but it appeared that he hadn't noticed Merlin watching him. Rather than the cheer he always wore these days, Gwaine looked uncharacteristically nervous and ruffled, as if he’d been kept up half the night. He tapped his fingers restlessly against the windowsill, his muscled back tensing and releasing with each successive cycle of fingernails on wood. His head turned to follow something down below, which gave Merlin a captivating view of his side profile. His brow was pinched, mouth turned down into a thin line. To Merlin, he appeared both pensive and unruly, very much the rogue noble he never accredited himself as. 

But Merlin could not lay there and admire Gwaine forever. He sat himself up into a slouched perch, the sound alerting Gwaine. The knight spun on his heel, presenting Merlin with a wide smile. His eyes betrayed his deep-seated sorrow, which Merlin saw far more of than anyone else. Perhaps Merlin was simply not as oblivious to it, but knowing how Gwaine felt, seeing how he never allowed himself the same vulnerability around others as he did with Merlin… Merlin sometimes wondered if that rawness was meant for him alone, and if Gwaine wanted him to see it, challenged him to acknowledge it.

“Good morning, Gwaine,” he said, stretching as best he could without reinjuring himself. He didn’t remember when the sling that Gwaine made for him was removed, but the loss became more glaring the longer the knight stared at him.

“Morning, Merlin. Sleep well?”

 _No._ “Yeah, better than usual. How about you?”

“Same here.” That was a lie, Merlin knew. They studied each other for a moment, neither willing to breach the uneasy walls they had built around themselves, all the while daring the other to break in. Eventually, Merlin seceded.

“I will have to attend Agravaine soon…” 

Gwaine caught onto his dismissal and sighed, resigning himself to another day of Merlin closing himself off. Merlin tried not to feel bad about how their friendship was waning ever since the kiss, but bringing Gwaine any deeper into the mess he made could only result in disaster.

“Of course. I’ll see you later, then.” Gwaine offered him a curt nod and left, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

Making Gwaine leave put Merlin into a dismal mood, but involving him would only get him hurt, or worse. And if Gwaine rejected him, if Gwaine found out…

Merlin could handle this on his own, and hopefully mend his precarious friendship with Gwaine along the way. 

Standing up was much easier than it had been the past week. Perhaps today wouldn’t be as wretched as he was anticipating. He strained his ears for any movement, and when he was sure Gwaine had left, he stepped outside his room. 

He couldn’t help but note how much emptier the physician’s chambers felt. Typically, Gaius would already be up, brewing potions or treating patients, with a bowl of porridge waiting on the table for his ward. Gwen had taken over Gaius’ rounds after Morgana’s betrayal, seeing as she had more time to spare in the mornings than Merlin did, though he accompanied her on the occasional morning off that Arthur so generously allowed. He smiled faintly at the thought of Arthur, before his mouth set in a firm line. Arthur’s disappearance burdened his mind now more than ever. Though Merlin could not guess at the details of Agravaine’s involvement, he knew that all was going according to plan, and that spelled out destruction for his kingdom. 

He was doing this for them. So that Gaius would not be accused, and so that he could bring Arthur back. As reluctant as he was to further degrade himself under the traitor regent, it was this reminder that kept him from fleeing. Yet, despite his good will, a feeling he’d grown all too familiar with lingered around his thoughts. The shame of serving the man responsible for whatever happened to Arthur, the man who threw Gaius in the dungeons as if he were nothing more than a pawn, gnawed at him with the fervor of a starved animal. It was irrational, he knew, but still the act made his skin itch, like a layer of filth he could never be clean of.

He reprimanded himself for starting his morning off with such pleasant thoughts. It was just the other day that he had shared more of himself with Gwaine than he thought he ever would again. There was only ever Freya and Lancelot… and that brief kiss with Gwen, if that counted. And, alright, some fumbling around with Will. But here was Gwaine, loyally by his side after he had lost almost everyone else, even when Merlin couldn’t reciprocate. 

He was happy with Gwaine, even with their limitations. So why did that stolen moment feel like years ago already? And why couldn’t he just act normally around his friend, as if they were back when the both of them kept the true nature of their feelings repressed to preserve what they had? 

Had that been ruined forever?

Shaking off the thought that he had lost Gwaine for good, he focused on his immediate future. He was unsure what would be required of him from his new master. Pushing down his nausea, he prepared a bowl of porridge and berries. It tasted better than anything Gaius made, though he would never say so out loud, yet it was like eating sand without his uncle sitting across from him where he belonged.

None of this was right. He gave up on the porridge and shoved himself away from the table. The kitchens would be his first stop, as Agravaine would want a meal fit for a king. Without meaning to, he scowled. This act was humiliating not just for himself but for Arthur, whether he knew of it or not. Naturally, Merlin loved embarrassing Arthur, but this was done in bad faith, with intent to harm. Merlin hoped he would be able to hold his tongue at the mockery the traitor would make of his king, but he could make no promises.

Most of the food was already set out for Merlin to take, so he spent only a few minutes in the kitchens before taking it to the regent’s rooms. He paused at the door. Was it expected of him to knock before entering? Fidgeting as much as he could with platefuls of food balanced on his arms, he realized he had a more pressing problem: actually getting the door open. He flicked his eyes to both ends of the corridor to make sure he was alone before closing them and opening the door with a mental push. The handle and wood obeyed silently, and he stepped inside with the same level of consideration for the man still sleeping the day away on the far side of his expansive bed.

Setting the plates down as soundlessly as possible, he thought about how he should approach the actual waking up part. With Arthur, he would simply tear open the curtains and let the sun do most of the work, accompanied by an overly-bright “Rise and shine!” He had a feeling that would not go over well with Agravaine, so he settled for rounding the bed and gently shaking his shoulder, masking his disgust at touching the bare skin there.

“My Lord,” he said, and then realized he didn’t know what to say next. “It is morning.” He winced, but it was not as if he was wrong.

The man gradually woke and fixed his gaze on Merlin. It was bizarre, seeing a man who was capable of instilling terror into his very heart in such a state. A vulnerable tyrant was an uncomfortable sight, especially given the intensity with which he stared back, so Merlin looked away and instead went to the man’s dresser, not really caring if the clothes he picked out suited him. He hung them over the edge of the changing screen and returned to his charge, who had pulled himself into an upright position already. He was a hell of a lot more lively than Arthur in the mornings, which at least saved him some of the effort. 

Thinking about Arthur was a mistake, as the anger that was simmering under his skin nearly burst through again. How was he supposed to make it a full day looking after a man he hated, nevermind to the indeterminable end of his reign? 

Merlin dutifully pulled out a chair and smiled. A small part of him hoped the man could see how fake it was. 

Agravaine rubbed his eyes and stood to his full height. He was only a little taller than Merlin, but of a much broader build. The servant made to back away before he remembered himself and dutifully stood at the table with his hands clasped behind his back.

Watching the man eat foods that Merlin could never afford, which he often took off of Arthur’s plate to share with Gwaine, was proving much more difficult than it should have been. He had felt too sick this morning to eat more than a few spoonfuls of porridge, let alone enough to fill him. As if on cue, Merlin’s empty stomach let out a growl. He bit his lip as his face flushed a vibrant pink hue.

Agravaine, who had a sausage halfway to his mouth, stopped eating and turned to look at him. Merlin made a valiant effort to avoid eye contact. He gave a nervous smile with a raise of his eyebrows and hoped it was endearing enough to prevent any further awkwardness. 

And then, to his utter shock, the man offered him a strawberry. 

“You don’t have to stand there and starve, boy. Come make yourself useful and help me finish this meal. We wouldn’t want it to go to waste, after all.”

Merlin’s smile turned tight as he pushed back memories of Freya and quietly accepted the proffered food. The sweet strawberry juice hit his tongue and, to his never-ending embarrassment, he let loose a delighted moan. Agravaine only smiled and handed him some grapes.

More than anything, Merlin was confused. This man hated him and likely wanted him dead, not to mention the unimportant detail that _Merlin knew he was behind Arthur’s disappearance._ So why was he acting so tame, almost friendly all of a sudden? 

Nothing else unusual happened during the council meeting that morning, which mostly involved the nobles ignoring the grain issue. Why no one besides Merlin and one council member understood how pressing the matter was, he would never know. Likewise, although Agravaine led the knights’ training a tad harsher than Arthur would—even if he didn’t have to be there at all, as Leon offered to take over—there was naught odd about that, either. Merlin had a brief reprieve when Gwen and Gwaine happened upon him, but Agravaine made it clear he was not to be distracted from his duties. The regent was keeping a close eye on Merlin, never letting him stray far from his side. It had been a full day already, but nothing could explain the kind gesture from that morning.

It wasn’t until that night, when Merlin was preparing Agravaine for bed, that he found the probable cause.

To Merlin’s distress, Agravaine was about as skilled at dressing himself as Arthur. Which meant that, at the end of the day, Agravaine called Merlin behind the folding screen for assistance with the simplest of tasks. It didn't strike Merlin as strange, as he was dressed in many fine layers. They looked difficult just to wear, nevermind to get out of, but he felt it could be accomplished alone either way. 

He did his best to avert his eyes during the process, though he needed to see his hands to accomplish anything. When Agravaine was stripped down to only a tunic and breeches, he made to leave, only for a hand to tug him back by his chafed wrist. He winced before looking to the man for direction. 

Agravaine leaned forward and splayed his arms forward, indicating for Merlin to remove the tunic. _Well, there goes my appetite,_ Merlin thought. At least Arthur was easy on the eyes, and much closer to Merlin in age—not to mention, a good person… Pretty much the exact opposite of the man he was being forced to undress. He sighed and did as told, though he did so with an air of annoyance. His master didn’t seem to notice.

Merlin was just about to leave again to rearrange the bedsheets when the man spoke up.

“The breeches as well, boy.”

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse. He moved his hands to the man’s waist and untied his breeches, before looking up to gauge his reaction. The man nodded almost imperceptibly, so Merlin took it as a sign to continue. Settling on his knees, he removed the garment, careful to keep his face turned away. 

Unfortunately, that was difficult when the very thing he wanted to ignore was only inches from his face, thinly covered by a white undergarment. He helped the man step out of each leg as quickly as possible and tried to get up, only to feel a hand at the back of his skull holding him in place. 

“Wh-” he got out, before it turned into a whine as the hand tugged on his short-cropped hair.

“You talk too much, Merlin. Why don’t you put your mouth to work on something more useful?” 

“What are you doing?” he bit out, despite his growing panic.

The hand twisted in his hair again and he swallowed down his yelp of pain. “Surely you are not naive enough to be unaware of what goes on behind closed doors?” Suddenly, Merlin’s face was being pulled closer, until the clothed bulk rubbed against his cheek.

He shouted and swatted the hand out of his hair, then gained his feet and backed away a safe distance. There was a sensation like bugs and maggots crawling beneath his skin, but scratching at those places did nothing to relieve the feeling. 

“You can’t- you don’t get to use me like that.”

“Don’t I?”

“No!” Merlin yelled, anger and disgust clouding any sense of propriety he had been holding up. 

The traitor looked like he was about to argue, before his face lost its edge, though Merlin was sure any softness was feigned.

“Of course. I apologize, I merely assumed that this was a part of your regular duties.”

Wait, was he implying that _Arthur_ would…

Merlin tried not to gag, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. He could not rage, lest his magic lash out at the man. That would do no good. On the exhale, he opened his eyes, appearing as the perfect picture of understanding. “All is forgiven, my lord. Now if that will be all…”

“Yes, I believe I can handle myself from here. Goodnight, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t bother saying it back; he was already halfway out the door. When he got far enough away, walking in no particular direction, he found an alcove and slunk into it, sliding down against the stone wall. He felt watched, vulnerable, as if the smarmy man’s eyes were still on him. His hands came up to hide his face, though it made no difference, shadowed as it was. It felt as if there was a layer of grime and grease everywhere the man touched him—his hair, his wrist, his _cheek…_

Tears welled in his eyes, a sob escaping him, before he pressed a hand over his mouth to quell it. There could still be a handful of guards or servants about, and he already felt seen enough without being caught crying in a public space by one of them. He took in a ragged breath, and then another, until the intakes were finally calm enough to appear normal. 

Wiping his eyes with the soft sleeve of his tunic, he was abruptly reminded of what he would be facing in the morning. The man had these clothes fitted for him, likely to make him all that much easier to ogle. Merlin would have to serve and look after him, knowing this. How could he move about the room tending to his chores when he could feel the man’s eyes on him, if he couldn’t escape the sensation of fingers in his hair and his knees on the hard ground? 

All of his fears amalgamated into two hideous thoughts: Agravaine might not accept rejection a second time, and Merlin may not be able to do what was necessary to save Arthur. He didn’t even know where to _start_ yet. He needed help, and fast. 

With that thought, Merlin set his shoulders and made for the forest.   
____________________________

Gwen was miserable. Her day started as usual, coming by the physician’s quarters to help Gaius make his rounds, only to find both the physician and Merlin absent. That was odd, but then again, Merlin was off bedrest now and it was possible they were both needed down in the dungeons. Except, if that were the case, the tonics she had to hand out would have already been prepared. Gaius had never neglected his duty before.

Something uneasy settled in her stomach. She knew Gaius had a list of which medicines belonged to whom, though it might not be necessary as she could remember most off the top of her head. _Although… better to be safe,_ she thought, gathering the supplies. As it turned out, she did not need the book. She volunteered herself for the chore after Morgana’s betrayal, as she had always been passionate in easing the plights of others. To know that she had the intelligence and care to meet their needs cheered her, but the nervousness did not diminish. 

It was as she made her rounds that Sir Gwaine caught sight of her and waved her down. “Princess!” he shouted, louder than was preferable. Several heads swiveled in their direction but, seeing who it was, quickly returned to their own business. Either way, she was learning to be less conscious of the staring when Gwaine was around. She had never seen a commoner attract such a crowd, and becoming a knight did not rectify his situation. 

“Sir Gwaine,” she greeted lightly, a stark contrast to the weight of the words that came pouring from the knight’s mouth.

“Gaius is in the dungeons,” and before Gwen could wrap her head around that, he added, “and Merlin is being made to serve Agravaine. He’s targeting everyone who knows about him.”

She blinked, and then rubbed her eyes with her free hand. When she opened them, Gwaine was still standing before her, an expectant look on his face. Her mouth opened and shut of its own accord, unable to form words while she struggled to react appropriately. But then again, this was Gwaine. Propriety wasn’t much of a concern to him.

“Are you _sure?”_ she asked, hoping that he was drunk or some other thing that would bring rationality back to her world. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, my lady.”

That was as true as ever. She shook her head, concentrating past the initial denial. 

“But why would Agravaine do any of this? What does it accomplish?”

“I've been asking myself the same question. But if I’m right about one thing, Camelot is in danger, and we will be too if we don’t do something about this.”

She nodded sagely. They needed to move forward with caution while they tried to uncover Agravaine’s plan and hopefully reveal the ruse he hid behind. As much as she hated it, they needed the traitor if they were going to find out where Arthur was taken. 

Dubiously, she clarified with him, “He’s made Merlin his _servant.”_

“Yes, and he knows that Merlin suspects him. It can’t mean anything good.”

“Indeed…” She was no longer paying attention to Gwaine, overcome with worry as she was. With Gaius in the dungeons, there would be no one to heal the increasing number of wounded. And with Merlin serving Agravaine, it was safe to assume he wouldn’t be able to help Arthur much. Though if it was magic, as Gwaine implied, she really didn’t know what hope they had. Swords and shields were useless against such a force.

“I need to talk to Merlin. Where is he now?”

“Council meeting, you might be able to catch him on the way out.”

“Right, after I take Gaius’ rounds. Meet me there?”

“Of course.”

It was a half hour after she finished her rounds that the council was dismissed, Merlin the last to leave, following a short distance behind Agravaine.

Gwen did a double take when her eyes adjusted to the scene before her. Gwaine had failed to mention Merlin’s change of clothes. In place of his signature frayed scarf and tunic, he wore a form-fitting, pine green tunic with sparse gold embroidery. She had never seen anything of its like, save on the nobles. He even wore a different pair of boots, just as sleek with the same winding design.

Sure, they looked _good,_ certainly of a higher quality than Merlin‘s regular wear, not to mention how well they fit his frame. But he looked so uncomfortable that she could only see it as a torment. It didn’t look natural: he seemed to keep to the shadows even more than usual, as if he didn’t want to be seen at all. She frowned, but then Merlin spotted them and the misery fled his face. He broke away from Agravaine, who continued on his path through the corridor, unaware of the distraction behind him.

“Gwen, Gwaine, what are you doing here?” He seemed pleased, but he said it in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Well, we wanted to check in on you, see how you’re doing.”

He sighed and looked pointedly at Gwaine, though it was Gwen who had spoken. “I’m fine, it’s just…”

 _”Where is he?”_ a voice echoed down the hall.

Merlin grimaced. “…I’m busy right now.”

Agravaine came storming back the way he came until his nose was only inches from Merlin’s. “I asked you to follow me, boy.”

“I apologize, my lord,” Gwaine said, taking a step closer to Merlin, protective. “I stopped him on his way out, it’s my fault entirely.”

Gwen couldn’t help smiling at that, her panic dying down a little. If there were any doubts in her mind that Gwaine wasn’t suited to Merlin, they disappeared in that moment. Gwaine may have made a terrible first impression, but he’d proven himself to be a caring friend. It was no surprise that he would cast the blame on himself if it meant Merlin would be free of the repercussions.

Agravaine did surprise her, though, when he placed a possessive hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Thank you for your honesty, Sir Gwaine. I suppose I do not need to explain why I cannot have you hindering my servant.” Agravaine led Merlin away, wordlessly fuming. Merlin left with his head-bowed, with none of the fight Gwen had grown used to.

Her brow scrunched in a brew of confusion and anger, and she assumed that Gwaine’s did the same from where he stood behind her.

“That was… odd,” she decided. “Something is definitely not right here. What could he possibly want with Merlin?”

Gwaine shook his head. “To isolate him, maybe? Keep a close eye on him?”

That made sense to her. If Agravaine wanted to divide them, then cutting them off from Merlin was a sure way to do it. 

Gwen had to go about her day, unfortunately, wondering what the traitor would have in store for them if he discovered just how much they knew. She passed Merlin a few times, pulling him into idle conversation when she could, only to be forced apart again. Every time, Merlin appeared disproportionately devastated at having to return to his work. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with the regent, which came as no surprise. He looked like he could use a hug, or a nap. He probably needed both desperately. To be stuck serving a traitor to Arthur… she shuddered at the thought. He must feel like a traitor himself.

But Agravaine couldn’t watch both of them at once, and her duty to the kingdom came before her duties as a servant. If Agravaine thought he could supplant Arthur, then he had yet to face a determined Guinevere.  
____________________________

There wasn’t much that could relieve the guilt of taking Merlin to the dungeons those few days back. Elyan knew Merlin was not being taken in for interrogation, but he had been once before, and seeing how upset Merlin was felt just as much like a betrayal… especially when Gaius was taken to a cell. 

Elyan had hoped that Arthur would return by now and the kingdom could return to normal. He felt useless, to put it lightly. His friends were in danger and he had only contributed to it so far, even if he did try to ease the pain. 

That was why he agreed so easily when Gwen asked him to help spy on Agravaine. Of course, when it came to the night hours, he told her that he would take over and to get some rest, which he could tell she appreciated. He got to Agravaine’s chambers just as Merlin flew out the door.

Elyan hid until the young servant passed and pressed his ear up to the hardwood. A candle went out, the light that had been coming through the cracks disappeared, and then the traitor was getting into bed. He didn’t seem to have any nefarious plans for that night, and so Elyan hesitantly left him to his sleep. 

But what could have caused Merlin to flee in such a hurry? If Agravaine had done anything suspicious, the servant would be the first to know, and so the knight went in the direction Merlin had taken until he spotted the man leaving a sheltered alcove, looking more disheveled than Elyan had ever seen him, though he had yet to actually spot Elyan.

Perhaps they should both be retiring for the night. His home with Gwen was in the same direction as Gaius’ chambers, anyway, so he figured that he could catch up to Merlin and accompany him home.

Except, when Merlin entered the courtyard, he slunk away behind a statue and hid himself in the shadows. Elyan would not have noticed him if he didn’t already know he was there. Curious, he followed. The sounds his boots made as they stepped over stone and grass were as loud as a battle to his ears, but Merlin didn’t seem to hear. 

It was concerning how easily they slipped past the guards. Was Camelot’s security really so weak? He would have to raise the point to Leon as soon as he knew he wouldn’t be killed for this. They got to the lower town fine, and even made it through the front gate without any trouble. Elyan did not know how Merlin accomplished this, for it was only Elyan’s status as a knight that allowed him passage.

But Merlin continued on. He no longer kept to the road, instead wandering deeper into the surrounding forest. What could he possibly be getting up to? Did he have a spot where he would go just to relax? That seemed like a very Merlin thing to do, he surmised.

As it turned out only moments later, Merlin was not out in the forest for a break from his duties. That much was apparent, though Elyan couldn’t begin to guess what Merlin was doing when he opened his mouth to emit a sound akin to a roar.

A _roar._ From _Merlin._

Elyan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He did not know the language Merlin spoke, but he could recognize the magic in it. An ancient, powerful magic… He had read enough about science and magic before he came to Camelot, there was no mistaking it. 

But… _Merlin?_ How could that be?

Merlin came to an abrupt halt at a clearing, and Elyan skidded as he moved swiftly behind a thick tree. He had no idea what Merlin incanted, nor the intended effects, but nothing had happened yet. Perhaps Merlin himself was waiting, as he did nothing to pass the time but pace from one end of the clearing to the other.

It was an endless wait before the sound of something flapping, like a distant flag in a strong wind, reached Elyan’s ears. 

It was not a flag, to the knight’s dawning horror.

Merlin didn’t so much as flinch when the dragon landed some paces in front of him. 

Elyan, on the other hand, pressed his back to the tree and bit down on his glove to stop his cry of shock from escaping, before he  
carefully peeked back out again.

The voices were drifting in and out of his hearing. Merlin talked to it like an old friend, and to Elyan’s boundless surprise, it did the same right back. He didn’t even know dragons could talk, and now he was listening to one mid-conversation. 

He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. But no, the tree at his back and the creature a stone’s throw away were very, very real. He knelt in the underbrush and did his best to remain unseen, though he knew his clothing would stand out against the scenery. From his new place, he was able to hear both human and dragon much clearer, just as they got past their initial greeting.

“…but what is it that brings you here, young warlock?”

A warlock? Elyan had heard of them, though he couldn’t claim to know much except that they were born with certain abilities, often considered creatures of magic themselves. If Merlin was a warlock, then he did not seek out magic at all—he hadn’t a choice in the matter. 

“It’s Arthur, he’s missing from Camelot.” Elyan was comforted by the fact that Merlin sounded so concerned about Arthur, as it meant that the man he’d come to know hadn’t been a lie after all. However, that begged the question: why would Merlin be so loyal to Arthur when magic was banned in Camelot? And what did the dragon have to do with any of it? It couldn’t be the same one he’d heard about from Arthur and Leon, as it had been slain, but it was his understanding that they were all but extinct. 

“I know how dangerous it is with the patrols about,” Merlin continued, desperation lacing his voice, “but if you could help in the search… it’s just, I can feel his absence. Something has happened to him, and I doubt the patrols can find him. We need Arthur back as soon as possible. The kingdom is more vulnerable now than ever before.”

“Merlin, I am always willing to aid you in your destiny, but there is nothing I can do for you.”

 _Destiny?_

“What do you mean?”

“Arthur has not left Camelot to my knowledge.”

 _”What?_ ” he asked, echoing Elyan’s thoughts perfectly. “How is that possible?”

“I fear there is powerful magic at work here, though I do not understand what.”

“Morgana…”

“You must learn what enchantment has been used against him before the witch can take power in Camelot. I am sorry that I cannot be of more help, young warlock.”

Merlin sighed loudly. “You’ve done as much as you can. Thank you,” he acknowledged with a respectful dip of his head.

Elyan took the time to process what he had just learned while the unlikely pair parted ways. Merlin was born with magic, and he had some sort of destiny, apparently, one that laid with Arthur. But Merlin’s secrets were not as alarming as the last piece of information he’d gleaned from the interaction.

Arthur was in worse trouble than he originally thought. If Agravaine was responsible, alongside the priestess he served, then he would know that the patrols would find no sign of their king. That could only mean one thing: Agravaine was diverting Camelot’s defenders. He was going to let Morgana in without giving away his betrayal, and let countless innocents die in the process.

Elyan barely noticed when the sorcerer left the clearing, leaving him alone in the woods. He would not get any sleep that night, vying to wake Gwen in the early hours. He himself walked numbly back to the city, returning to the home they used to share before he became a knight. The sun began to rise, and when he couldn’t resist anymore, he lightly shook his sister’s shoulder to wake her. 

“Elyan, what is it?” she groaned, rolling over to keep the glaring light out of her eyes. 

When he didn’t answer, she peeked out at him with unmasked concern. “Is something wrong?”

“Not… as such,” he said, unsure how exactly he could tell her this. “It’s about Merlin.”

“Is he alright?” she said, fully awake now. “Spit it out, Elyan!”

“He’s fine! I think. It’s- well, it’s hard to explain,” he started self-consciously, scratching the back of his head. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. It was not as if Merlin kept this a secret for fun. “There’s something he hasn’t been telling us.”

“Elyan, did you discover Merlin’s secret?”

Elyan’s eyes grew wide. “That depends. Did you?”

_“What did you find out?”_

Elyan thought back to what he’d overheard last night. He was sure that Merlin meant no harm, and was in fact trying to resolve the problem. He honestly didn’t want to get his friend in trouble if Gwen reacted badly. After all, Gwen had lived in Camelot for far longer and was likely less comfortable with the idea of magic, nevermind a _dragon._ And Arthur was under some sort of enchantment, still within Camelot’s walls… 

Well, he didn’t want to worry Gwen if there was nothing she could do about it. If the issue was magical in nature, surely Merlin was equipped to handle it. Involving Gwen would only bring her into danger. Gwen had taken care of him through thick and thin, and Elyan would always do what he could to match the kindness she’d shown him. If all he could do was to keep her out of harm’s way, then he would do it to the best of his ability.

“I think maybe it’s not my secret to tell,” he decided.

Gwen bit her lip. “Of course, you’re right. You’d tell me if you felt you could. _He_ would tell me.”

“Yeah… I understand why he wouldn’t tell anyone. I know I wouldn’t be his first choice.”

“Right, how did you find out if he didn’t tell you?”

Elyan bit the inside of his mouth so his smile wouldn’t show. “I have my ways.”

Gwen crossed her arms and fixed him with a glare. “I can’t believe you found out before I did! He’s been my friend for _years._ Wait… does he know that you know?”

“Gods, I hope not.” He trusted Merlin, but he really didn’t need to get on the bad side of someone who had a dragon at his beck and call. If Merlin knew he had followed him into those woods and discovered his deepest secret, their friendship would definitely be over. At the thought, he began to regret his choice to eavesdrop, though he was grateful for what he’d learned. 

“Well, is it… bad?”

“What?”

“He hasn’t got himself into any trouble, has he?”

“I… I don’t know how to answer that question. It’s quite the secret, Gwen.”

“Well… just don’t tell anyone, whatever it is,” she ended on a yawn.

“That’s fair.”

“I want to find out on my own, and that’s not going to happen if it becomes the city gossip.”

Elyan laughed. He knew she was only  
joking, for her worry had shown clear on her face just moments before. 

“You should get some rest, I’ll let the steward know you won’t be coming in today.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary…”

He looked at the redness of her eyes and the circles underneath them, crossing his arms in a stern look that she would never take seriously. “I insist. Take the day off, you’ve more than earned it.”

“Alright, if you insist,” she said with an amused smile. It reminded him of how they were before he left, when their father was still there. The smile he gave her in return had a twinge of nostalgia to it. 

“Sleep well.” He pulled the covers over her the rest of the way. Arthur had gotten her a nice blanket a few years back, though he only knew a few tidbits of the story. _An apology gift for snoring like a pig?_ That sounded about right, given the more unfortunate patrols Elyan had been a part of. The only reason he didn’t try to reposition the king in his sleep was because it might be considered treason, though he didn’t think he could get into any real trouble as long as Arthur was courting his sister. 

He left her house, meandering through the streets as the market’s crowd gradually grew, and his feet took him to the citadel before his mind caught up with him. The courtyard had become an entirely different place overnight. Merlin, one of the sweetest souls he knew—barring Gwen of course—had to sneak about like a thief in the night in order to do what the knights could not: save their kingdom, and its king. If anything, the knights were only impeding that goal while following Agravaine’s orders.

He made his decision and headed straight to the throne room, where he found Leon instructing Percival on something he was too far away to hear. He hoped they would not see it as a betrayal and the thought almost had him backing out of the room. But he needed to do this, and so he planted his feet firmly in place and straightened his shoulders with a confidence he didn’t have. Percival was the first to notice him and caught Leon’s attention. They greeted him warmly as he approached, looking as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

To their bewilderment, he removed his cloak and folded it into a neat square, handing it to Sir Leon. “I quit,” he said with a smile, and then left the room, the sounds of confused sputtering fading with every step he took.

He made it as far as the hall when a hand on his shoulder turned him around to face a broad chest, and a little ways higher, Percival’s gentle eyes. Elyan was perceptive enough to note the pain in them. 

“El, what’s brought this on?”

He couldn’t tell him about Merlin and the dragon, and he doubted that Percival would believe him about Agravaine’s treachery, either. He wondered how Merlin kept his secrets with such ease. Practice, probably. 

“I serve Arthur, not Agravaine. I cannot follow the regent’s orders in good conscience.”

The larger knight was silent for a time, working through Elyan’s words. He looked lost, as if he couldn’t comprehend what this meant for the coming days. “I understand your decision. I myself stay only for Arthur. This isn’t forever.”

“I should hope so. But until he returns…” He shrugged. Percival would get the message. 

“You’ll always have a place among us,” the knight said. “I hope to see you back soon.” He gave Elyan’s shoulder a reassuring shove, a smile on his face though his eyes were wet. 

“Oh, I don’t plan on leaving entirely. I’m sure you’ll see me around.”

Elyan turned and left the hall, whistling a jaunty tune. Back in the town, his father’s old forge was waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, Elyan DOES visit the steward on Gwen’s behalf, but it’s offscreen, so to speak. 
> 
> Elyan was pretty neutral on magic and recognized that Arthur isn’t as unjust as Uther, and if Gwen believes in Arthur, then Elyan can make room for him, too. 
> 
> And no, I am not capable of sticking to one (1) mood per chapter. 
> 
> Spent like 5 or 10 minutes trying to figure out if Merlin’s bedroom has rafters. Idek anymore.
> 
> Once again I am very sorry to Merlin. Love that lil warlock with my whole heart.


	8. The Right Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen’s curiosity gets her some unexpected answers. Meanwhile, Merlin is running out of options to keep his friends safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the one month wait was worth it! Sorry about that. 
> 
> Warnings for extreme non-con touching + threats and coercion. Light self-harm (scratching).

“Elyan did _what?_ That’s not like him. Why would he do such a thing? Is he alright? Is this about Merlin?”

“…What? What’s Merlin got to do with this?”

Gwen felt bad for Sir Leon. He had probably wanted to break the news to her personally before the rumors caught up to her—and she knew there would be rumors—only to be met with questions he could not answer. In any case, her questions were very reasonable, considering her brother had just resigned from being a knight of Camelot. It was only the day after it happened, but she felt like the last to know. 

“Sorry,” she said anyway, in a small voice. 

Leon gave her a knowing smile. “There is nothing to forgive, my lady.”

She blushed abashedly at the fond title before the confusion took over again. “But why quit at all? Arthur needs him now more than ever. That’s why he became a knight in the first place.”

“Exactly. He’s Arthur’s knight, not Agravaine’s. If you ask me, he can’t fulfill the new orders of our regent with a clean conscience.” 

Although the situation was somewhat dismal, the expression on Leon’s face was anything but. To Gwen, he appeared pleased more so than disappointed.

It made sense to her. Gwen didn’t know the exact orders the knights were being given, but she could imagine they were not fair like Arthur’s were. The one currently commanding the knights went against the very grain of what Arthur stood for; and Leon knew Elyan almost as well as she did, after all. 

Any confusion she had was quickly replaced with pride for her brother, and she soon realized that was exactly what Leon felt. Elyan did what he believed to be right, even when it drew more attention to himself than was wanted. She only hoped he would be in no danger for it, but Leon must have seen the worry on her face and was quick to assure her.

“He is not facing any of the consequences typical of a deserter, as he _did_ swear his loyalty to Arthur and promise to return with him. Convincing the council on that was the least I could do.”

“Thank you, Leon. I suppose I should go and find him. He’s probably cleaning up father’s old forge as we speak.”

“Of course, I’ll leave you to it.” She pulled him in for a hug before they both left, Leon to his knights and Gwen to her brother.

She found him right where she expected. He had always liked to stay neat and tidy, so it was no surprise that the place was looking like new after what couldn’t have been more than a few hours. The clean atmosphere reminded her of long days spent with her father and brother, learning the feel of various weapons and shields. The memories were tinged with a bittersweet quality after his untimely passing, but she only savored them all the more for it. 

Elyan hadn’t been there when their father died, not even for the funeral. She had believed for a time that he abandoned them, but she thought she understood now. If he had left, sacrificed so much time that could have been spent with them, only to return empty-handed, it would have felt as if he’d failed them both. Knowing Elyan, he probably thought he was keeping her away from trouble, freeing her of one more burden. Her brother only ever wanted to do right by her, to take care of her, and he did so in the only way he knew how. The longer he was around, the more she recognized that in his day-to-day gestures of kindness. Elyan felt that he needed to make up for his absence, but she knew that even when he was away, his thoughts were still with her every day.

It was a mystery to her what he must have felt when he first returned to the forge, or what he was feeling now upon retaking the title of blacksmith. She could ask, but Elyan often kept his emotions to himself, all the while helping others through their own problems. Few ever saw through the act, and even fewer realized just how much support he needed… how much support he didn’t have. 

But Elyan was not alone at the forge as she thought he would be. It shouldn’t have surprised her how much better the place looked with an extra set of hands at work, but she couldn’t help the awed expression on her face as she looked around once more.

“Just like when we were young,” Elyan said as she walked to the table he was currently clearing.

“Indeed. It’s…” 

It was difficult to describe. After Elyan left, her father’s workspace had lost all sense of organization. She could see how it reflected his state of mind, having lost such a constant as Elyan in his life. Gwen tried to be there for him as often as she could, though it was not easy to do so while serving Morgana. Her attention had been divided many nights between Morgana’s nightmares and her father’s loneliness. Knowing what she did now, she would have devoted more of her time to him than to the former king’s ward. Perhaps she and Elyan were more alike than she thought—unlike Morgana, they couldn’t predict the future. There were some choices that, however well-intended, they had to live with. They would both give anything to reclaim that lost time with their father.

“It’s lovely,” she decided, trailing her fingers delicately over the old table where the three of them spent endless hours together as a family. She drew her hand back before the memories could flood her.

“Are you alright there, my lady?” Percival had been watching her since she came into the room, happy to see her as ever, but now she saw pity in his eyes. It made sense, she supposed. A lot had happened in the previous days, and there never seemed to be a time or place to step back and think on how she felt about all of it. She had barely enough time to grieve for her father before Arthur had been on his deathbed after defeating the Questing Beast, and then Merlin’s mother had fallen ill right after. She set that which was closest to her heart aside as well as she could, because there would always be something worse, something else that demanded her attention. But now she found that nothing could distract her from it, and the years she had kept trapped beneath her smile threatened to spill from her eyes.

“I- I’m fine, Percival, thank you,” she said, even as the tears began to cascade down her cheeks.

Elyan came forward quickly, wrapping her in a loose hug, never one to shy away from open affection the way Arthur sometimes did. Gods, she wished Arthur was there to comfort her. 

“Gwen, what’s wrong?” he asked, close to tears himself. Elyan was always overly empathetic like that. It made her feel less alone to see the emotions play out on his face the same way they did in her chest. 

“It’s nothing! And… everything. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making this anyone else’s problem.”

“Gwen, if it’s a problem for you, then it’s my problem, too. Here, sit down.” He nodded to Percival, who pulled out a chair for her at the table, and she thanked him for it as well as she could through her blurry vision.

“It’s just, father would have loved to see it like this again. It was never the same without you here.” She could see tears forming in his eyes and instantly regretted losing the grasp she tried to keep on her emotions when she was around others. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“Oh, Gwen, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have never left. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you.”

“It was hard, but I don’t blame you, and I don’t think you should, either. You just wanted to make a better life for yourself, I understand that.”

He took her hand in both of his, cradling it like something precious. “For us, Gwen.”

She bit her lip, feeling the weight in her chest lessen and the flow of tears slow. “Thank you for being here, Elyan.”

“I’m never going to leave your side again, alright?”

And looking into his eyes, she believed him.

Percival laid a gentle hand on Elyan’s shoulder, offering his own support and understanding. The bond between the two men had grown considerably, though now as Gwen saw upclose the slight smile on the larger man’s face when he gazed down at her brother, she wondered if there was something else she was missing… but that was decidedly not her business. Elyan liked his privacy, and Percival didn’t seem any different.

She stood and hugged her brother one last time before taking her leave. Perhaps she could find Merlin and see if Agravaine was keeping him busy. Her fellow servant’s antics never failed to get a laugh out of her. It seemed she hadn’t truly smiled in days. She never realized how much of her time was spent with him until it stopped entirely. 

That was yet another issue that wouldn’t leave her alone. Merlin had been acting especially strange of late. Well, Merlin was always a strange one—Gwen pointed it out herself almost as soon as she met him. What she meant was, this grim set to his features was unfamiliar. His mouth usually contained a crooked grin as he let his sharp wit take over—at Arthur’s expense most days—and his eyes would come alive with joy whenever he ran into her. But when she caught his eyes yesterday, they looked far away, and his jaw had been clenched as if in pain. The way he seemed to shy away from everyone, even Gwaine, was new. Something was wrong, more than he was telling them. 

Something about serving Agravaine made him look… defeated, or resigned, for lack of a better term. It was because of the regent, she knew, for Merlin would never give up on Arthur, even if there _was_ nothing he could do until Arthur’s return. There was plenty to hate about the regent, and it would be easy to pin Merlin’s withdrawal from the world down to his day in the dungeons, but the very notion that Agravaine would keep him as his servant and not simply lock him away with Gaius… Well, the explanation that Agravaine merely wanted to keep a close eye on Merlin did not fit that mold. 

It was all just _wrong._ She could see it, but she couldn’t explain it. 

There had to be something more, perhaps something pertaining to Arthur, but for the life of her she could not figure out what. And if it had anything to do with Merlin’s secret, she feared she would never find out. Though she was often more perceptive than her peers, Merlin always had her stumped from the start. 

As desperate as her friend was to slip away from his master, it was difficult to get him alone. But for all her efforts, she was eventually awarded with his undivided attention. 

“Is something wrong, Gwen?”

“Hopefully not. I was rather hoping you could tell me.”

He cocked his head at her questioningly, and she took it as a sign to continue.

“You keep avoiding…” _Don’t say the secret._ “…everything that’s been bothering you, even with Gwaine. He’s been trying to talk to you about it.” It still made no sense to her that Merlin would hide it from Gwaine, as the two were practically joined at the hip. Gwaine would always listen to Merlin. Couldn’t he see that?

Merlin blushed deeply, all the way up into the tips of his ears, and scratched the back of his head. _“Especially_ with Gwaine,” he corrected.

“He cares about you, Merlin.” She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders with a confidence she didn’t have. “Has he found out, then? Does he know?”

“There’s nothing _to_ know, Gwen.”

Merlin could act none the wiser, but Gwen knew he had a secret since the day they met, and Elyan only confirmed it. She smiled reassuringly at him. “I know why you may not want to talk about it, but he wouldn’t judge you for it.” Merlin was not capable of anything that could make Gwaine love him any less, whatever his secret may be. It was obvious to anyone who knew the knight just how deeply he felt for Merlin. “I think he may yet surprise you.”

“I… I know,” he said, to her utter confusion. “I know how he feels about it already, but… just trust me, keeping him at a distance is better for both of us.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Your s-”

She had no more time to speak on the topic, however, as Agravaine made himself known, cutting a corner into the hall where they spoke. She squinted at him, as he had a penchant for calling after Merlin relentlessly whenever the manservant became occupied with someone besides his master. This quiet reappearance was more than a little odd, and it had her wondering how much he’d actually heard.

“Ah, Merlin, there you are. Come along now. I will need your assistance in my chambers.”

Merlin offered Gwen a helpless shrug as he was practically pulled by the nape of his neck off to what would surely be an endless stream of tasks. Her eyes never strayed from his back, worry clutching at her once more. There was a connection between Arthur’s disappearance and Agravaine’s sudden interest in Merlin, though she had little to prove it but her own common sense. Still, Agravaine was guilty of harming two of the men she loved most in the world, and her kingdom was suffering for it. If his guilt could be proven, then she would see justice done.

She’d fooled Morgana once; she could continue to do the same to Agravaine as long as need be.  
_________________________

The conversation with Gwen had not been what Merlin was expecting. He had only a few moments to spare, and she filled it with talk of his feelings for Gwaine? How had she even known that he was in lo- er, that he liked him in that way? 

Gods, had Gwaine gone gossiping to Gwen? He knew they talked, but he didn’t know they were _that_ close. And why should they be talking about Merlin when there was some perfectly good talk to be had about Elyan? The former knight had quit only yesterday, which inadvertently made Merlin’s day much less stressful, as Agravaine was preoccupied for hours. And if Merlin completed most of his chores with magic and took a long nap in one of the empty guest rooms, it was not as if the regent was there to find out. But today was only Merlin’s third time serving him, and he had a feeling that he would not receive that much free time again without another miracle. 

Merlin could worry about that later, though. For now, as he was led impatiently through the hallway, he did not know whether to shove the cruel hands off of him or to put on a smile and act as if his skin wasn’t crawling with every touch. Agravaine’s hand on the small of his back made something inside him curdle like spoilt milk. He wanted nothing more than to curl away from the contact, but could only allow himself to be led through the halls until they reached the regent’s rooms. 

Once inside, Merlin went to stoke the fire so he could keep a reasonable distance, but the click of the door locking gave him pause. He turned around where he was crouched before the hearth, watching Agravaine like a deer just before the hunter lets loose an arrow. 

“Dear boy,” he began, strolling towards Merlin with a smirk, “you are well and truly clueless, aren’t you?”

Merlin cleared his throat, turning his back to the man, though it did nothing to hide the quaver of his voice. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”

The man was suddenly much closer now, and Merlin stood to his full height to get away from him, only to feel a solid wall at his back. Agravaine seemed more than pleased with his compromised position. He strode closer, until he was leaning over Merlin, and the warlock had no choice but to press his back further into the cold stone behind him. The older man propped both of his hands up on either side of Merlin’s head, caging him in his arms.

“You’ve no need to be shy around me,” the man said, taking a hand off the wall so he could run a thumb down one of Merlin’s sharp cheekbones, catching it on his bottom lip. 

Merlin gasped at the touch and looked stiffly off to one side, anywhere but Agravaine, as if the man’s wandering eyes would pass right over him. 

“Oh, do not act as if you never receive any… attention from the visiting nobles.”

In all honesty, he got more attention than he thought he was worth, not that he would ever admit that to the man in front of him.

Agravaine did not wait for his response. “Gwaine may not be a real noble, or a real knight for that matter, but he fancies himself one.”

Merlin almost choked at the abrupt change of topic. He shut his eyes so that he would not punch the man for speaking of Gwaine in such a manner. “ _Sir Gwaine_ is more noble than you will ever be.”

“Don’t play me for a fool, Merlin. I have seen how _Sir Gwaine_ looks at you… and how you look at him. It has little to do with chivalry.”

“L-looks at me?” Merlin stuttered out, trying to contain his rising blush. “You must be mistaken.” First Gwen had approached him about his hopeless crush in the hall, and now Agravaine? He had been pushing Gwaine away to keep him safe; but if Agravaine knew, then the knight was in far more danger than Merlin had anticipated.

A slow, sadistic smile spread across the traitor’s face and something animalistic flashed behind his eyes. “Oh, yes. You act differently around him, never tensing up when he gets his hands on you. Tell me, does he touch you like this?”

The man ran his hand down from where it rested against Merlin’s jaw, until it lay atop his stomach, smoothing over the fabric there suggestively. Merlin turned his eyes away from his own body, opting to stare at the ceiling instead. He’d never noticed how different the view was compared to his own chambers.

He almost succeeded in forgetting his situation before the man’s hand moved lower, cupping him through his breeches. He gasped and tried to squirm away, but to no avail. 

“Does he, Merlin?”

“No!” he said quietly, shutting his eyes against the tears that threatened to leak out of the corners.

“He adores you, Merlin, and you want him just as badly.”

Merlin winced. “There is nothing between us!” he said, voice pitching high at the end as he pulled the hand away from him. He managed to remove it, but before he could so much as breathe a sigh of relief, the regent’s leg came up between his thighs to force them apart. Merlin took a sharp intake of breath as he was pressed flush to the wall. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Merlin said through gritted teeth, “I have work to do.” He tried to push Agravaine off of him so he could leave before things got worse, but the traitor was stronger. He grabbed Merlin by the backs of his thighs and hoisted him up, forcing Merlin’s legs to spread around the man’s waist. Merlin yelped as he was maneuvered, pushing against the man’s chest with all his might, growling and grunting from the exertion, but to no effect. Their bodies met in places they never should and Merlin could do nothing but twist and turn against their shared heat. The horror of it was intensified when he felt a hardness pushing against his bottom, forcing a surprised cry out of him. Even clothed, he was exposed in ways he didn’t want.

Agravaine inched his face closer until his mouth was at Merlin’s ear. “Your Gwaine is incredibly hotheaded, is he not? Imagine what would happen if he found out about… us.” This was punctuated with a roll of his hips, and Merlin could only try to wriggle himself free as he was tortured relentlessly.

His lip curled up in anger when he processed the euphemism in the man’s words. “There is no _us_ and there’s never going to be.” Could Agravaine really be so full of himself that he believed Merlin would want this?

But the man remained unnervingly impassive. “You won’t be able to stop me. I can ensure that Gwaine hears about it, and he would… why, he would challenge your regent to rescue a mere _servant!”_

“Get off of me, Agravaine, _or so help me gods…”_

“The court already doubts the peasant knights as things are,” he spoke sibilantly, a smile stretched tight across his face. “Why, if Gwaine were to commit treason against me, for a servant no less, I would have no choice but to execute him.”

Merlin stilled as the blood drained from his face. He didn’t want to believe it, but Agravaine spoke no lies… for the time being. 

Sensing the change, Agravaine dropped Merlin’s feet back to the floor. It was a spectacular relief, until the man resumed his earlier torture of tracing Merlin’s lips with a sword-calloused finger. Merlin resisted the urge to bite it, vying to play by the rules if it meant he would be let go of.

“Gwaine never has to find out about this. If you were to agree, I could guarantee his safety.” 

A warm breath ghosted over the crook of his neck. The close proximity made Merlin nauseous. He tried to pull away, but a hand was now wrapped about his wrist, steadfast as a rope. A trail of chapped lips then worked its way up his throat, much like the bile that threatened to rise up at any moment, until the man’s mouth was close enough to claim Merlin’s own.

He tried to exclaim his disgust, but it was swallowed down by the kiss. His magic was the only thing that could get Agravaine off of him, but there would be no way of doing it with subtlety. 

_Nevermind the damn rules_. He was going to get out one way or another. Revealing his secret now would only endanger his friends, so he put up a physical resistance and hoped to land a good hit. 

To Merlin’s delight, his knee found its target, right where it hurt most. Now it was Merlin’s turn to smile. He knew he did not hit it hard enough to do any lasting damage, but it would be enough for the moment. The breath was knocked out of Agravaine, who pulled away from Merlin and looked into his eyes as if he did not understand how it could have happened, and then grasped at himself in obvious agony. His weight crushing Merlin to the wall was the only reason he hadn’t doubled over. 

Though much had happened to make Merlin feel frightened and ashamed, to put it lightly, Merlin did not plan to leave this room without his dignity intact. “Let go of me this instant,” he demanded, stronger than before.

Through a half-wheeze, the traitor answered, “If that is truly what you want-”

The bruising grip was released and Merlin was freed from the spot he’d been trapped in. He took the opportunity to make it a safe distance away, but Agravaine had recovered enough to beat him to the only exit, blocking the doorway. 

“-though it won’t change anything, Merlin. I don’t yet know if I can trust you. You have, after all, lied to me on multiple occasions.”

“You mean the interrogations?” Merlin asked with a touch of exasperation, though it was largely overshadowed by his terror.

Agravaine stepped forward, a hand held out in what was meant as a placating gesture, but Merlin was not fooled and took a step back. The hand lowered. Perhaps its owner realized consoling Merlin would not be that easy. 

“Perhaps if you were more open to my suggestions, there would be enough opportunity to prove your loyalty.”

As if he hadn’t been violated by those hands enough already. He was shaking, though from residual fear, anger, or pure disbelief, he couldn’t tell. “You want me to,” he gesticulated wildly, “to do _that_ to prove my loyalty?” 

“And the old man’s,” Agravaine added with a winning gleam in his eye. “After all, Gaius is in poor health after the tragedy that befell him.”

“No thanks to you.”

Agravaine continued as if he hadn’t heard. “I do  
not want him in those cells, either, Merlin. I would hate to see him take ill, especially with so many dependent on his skills as a physician. But you’ve shown an unwillingness to cooperate with me thus far. I need to know that you trust me, so I will offer this only once, for Gaius.”

Frustrated tears started to form behind Merlin’s eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of his enemy.

“What reason have you given me to believe your promises?”

Agravaine chuckled as if he’d already gotten the answer he wanted. It was a gritty noise to Merlin’s ears. “I’m the only one with the authority to release Gaius from the cells. You can take my word or leave it, but his condition will not improve unless I have reason to believe you will not be a threat.” _A hindrance to his authority is what he means,_ Merlin thought silently. 

He took his eyes off of the leering grin, but as he tried to shove past to leave the room, a hand found his chafed wrist and twisted him around to face the regent. He gasped at the pain, which he was unfortunately getting used to.

“I expect an answer by tonight. Do remember to show up on time.” 

Merlin felt a deep anger take root in him and let it show through his eyes as he yanked his wrist out of the tight grasp. To his surprise, his attacker unlocked and opened the door wide, allowing him the room to escape. Merlin looked at it skeptically, as though he had been politely asked to jump off a cliff. Was the man really going to let him go? What would happen if he didn’t show? 

“Oh, and Merlin, do remember… if it does not happen your way, it is going to happen _my way._ I believe we would both benefit from your cooperation, and Sir Gwaine especially does not need to get involved in any of this trouble, not like Gaius has.” The man smiled brightly, as if he hadn’t just delivered a triple threat.

Merlin left hurriedly, but that smile stayed with him. 

As soon as he made it back to his own chambers, he slammed the door shut and collapsed against it, letting the tears fall that he did not want Agravaine to witness. He sobbed until he was hoarse, grateful that there were no patients on bedrest today, as it meant the room was bare and empty. His crying was not seen nor heard by any other, and he could even use his magic to heat a pail of water for a bath. But he could not scrub the feeling of filth from under his skin, no matter how hard he tried. _Hands on his thighs, his face, his-_

He shuddered, trying and failing to drive back the thoughts. By the time he was finished, the skin of his wrists was scratched red, inflamed, just short of drawing blood. 

True to his promise, Agravaine had delivered to Merlin two new sets of clothes. They were no different from the one he’d been dressed in except for their colors—one was a match for his eyes, which he found disturbing, and the other a violet-hued black, lined with silver instead of gold. He wished he did not understand the intent behind them, but the way they clung to his form left little to the imagination. He closed his eyes to pick one randomly and ended up in the blue. 

He attended his duties as acting physician, but too soon it was nearing nightfall. A decision needed to be made. He could not admit to himself that he had already chosen. 

Sneaking into the dungeons before sundown was not what Merlin was used to, but he made do. With the excuse that he needed to tend to the prisoners’ wounds, it really was not all that hard. When he found the right cell, his mentor was close to the bars, and the dying light showed his condition in startling clarity. The lines of his face seemed to stand out starkly in the dimness, more so than usual, and only worked to emphasize the bags beneath his eyes. His breathing was labored, and though he was not awake, Merlin could see he was weary. Gaius could not survive this treatment for much longer, and Merlin’s heart twisted with the possibility of losing the man who was like a father to him amidst this crisis. It was not Gaius’ time, and it was up to Merlin to make sure of that.

He nodded to himself, confirming what he had already believed. Even if he could keep Agravaine’s attentions a secret from Gwaine, Gaius couldn’t be left to this fate, no matter what the cost. There was too much that could happen.

Practically vibrating with anxiety, he slipped a handful of fresh bread—wrapped to protect from any rats or vermin—into Gaius’ lax hand and left the dungeons. He had more than a vague notion of what would be expected of him, as he was not new to this particular practice, but he had never actually done it with another person before. He had naively hoped Gwaine would be his first… But that could never be. This was a strategic move he had to make. Lending his body would be well worth saving his friends. It was not as if he hadn’t put himself in harm’s way for them before. This wasn’t any different. He had to believe that. 

At least if he stayed in Agravaine’s chambers, he could wait for the man to leave and use it as an opportunity to find out about Arthur’s disappearance. There was still a chance the chest of books remained in his rooms, so perhaps Merlin could find out what exactly he’d been researching for Morgana. Surely, it had to be more than just Merlin’s whereabouts. Kilgharrah said there was powerful magic at work—somewhere in Camelot, there had to be a clue to Arthur’s disappearance, and what better place to check than where the culprit hid in plain sight? 

He halted when he was finally at the door to his destination. Putting on a brave front did not quell the fear that worried at his every nerve. This was not what he wanted, but there was no other way, not without someone getting hurt.

 _You’re someone, you don’t deserve to be hurt,_ a voice in his head reminded him. He was not surprised at its softness, despite the underlying rough quality, though he may be confusing that with the crackling fire. A warmth deeper than that of the fire flickered in those dark, reflective eyes—like gemstones, moonlight on a lake, or even the eye of the phoenix on Arthur’s wrist, except instead of stealing his life force, these revitalized Merlin in a way he hadn’t felt since Freya, or even as far back as Will.

 _Not Arthur,_ the voice said.

It could never be. He knew that now, knew that his destiny did not allow for the same attachments he encouraged Arthur to pursue. It was too dangerous, and he could never be fundamentally honest with Gwaine.

For a moment, he let himself wonder if Arthur would be ashamed of him for the choices he was making. But the only alternative was to reveal his magic, and he did not have to wonder much at how Arthur would think of him then. The reminder left a sour taste in his mouth and weighed down his heart. 

Arthur would never know about this because Merlin would not fail him. Determination renewed, he knocked on Agravaine’s door and let himself in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry once again, Merlin. Will he be able to reveal any information that can help him get Arthur back? Next chapter *can* be skipped, more information will be provided in the author’s note there. 
> 
> Onto better news: Elyan and Percival, could it be? Gwen is such a socialite <3 she knows how to get to the truth. She’s been mostly reacting to the trouble everyone else gets into, but she’s going to get pulled in one way or another. Also, I feel like she helps people through their emotional baggage but rarely empties her own in canon, so having Elyan comfort her just feels so *chefs kiss* she will be getting some hugs and attention as the plot crescendos. It’s about time someone else takes some initiative and notices her emotional state!!!


	9. Looking Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin won’t let Agravaine hurt his friends, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major non-con warning. Description is only partially graphic, though vaguely procedural. It does detail the entirety of the ordeal enough that it is clear what is happening, though most of the focus is on Merlin’s mental state through it all. **This chapter can be skipped without affecting the plot.** Heed the warnings, and remember, you can stop reading it at any point without affecting your knowledge of the plot, though it does contain insights to Merlin that some may be interested in.

Merlin stepped into the room. Agravaine was at his desk, writing a report by the looks of it, but placed his quill back in its inkwell upon seeing the servant.

“So you’ve returned after all. Have you finally come to your senses?”

Merlin’s breath hitched as if on the first cry of a breakdown, but he held himself together and nodded silently.

“Very well.” Agravaine stood with a crooked smile and came closer to him. Bile rose in Merlin’s throat as he was motioned forward, coming to stand a short distance from the desk. The man circled him like a hawk would at the sight of a field mouse, before swooping in for the kill. “Take off your clothes.”

Merlin hesitated, but one look was enough to remind him of what was at stake. The man left his field of vision again, and Merlin knew he would not ask twice. He bent down to take off his boots, all too aware of eyes on his back, and then peeled off his sweat-stuck tunic and breeches. It reminded him eerily of when he’d been assigned the serving position a handful of days ago, and he realized the man had this— _all of it_ —planned from the beginning. The thought only served to remind him of his utter helplessness. 

He stood in only his underthings, arms hugging his midsection at the touch of cool air. If he could have huddled any closer to the fire without running the risk of provoking his aggressor, he would be laid out before it in a heartbeat. As things were, he was made to stand still, all the easier to ogle.

“Drop the rest of it.”

He dreaded this moment, when he would have to expose himself fully, to be at his utmost vulnerability in front of a man he never wanted to see again. His fingers played at the band of the undergarment, but he made no move to shed the precious cloth. 

Agravaine, who stood a short pace behind him while he undressed, made an impatient noise. He leant closer, enough so that he could whisper directly into Merlin’s ear, yet refrained from touching him. 

“Do you want the whole of Camelot to find out what favors you’ve agreed to perform for me? If not, I suggest you do as I say.”

A strangled sound escaped Merlin’s throat, landing somewhere between a gasp and a cry. He lowered the last veneer of his privacy and stepped out of it one foot at a time, kicking it hastily behind him. He canted his head to the side to keep an eye on the traitor, who seemed to be raking his gaze up and down his naked back, as if in a trance. 

“How is it that a servant has the scars of a warrior? Surely Arthur does not abuse you so.”

 _But you do,_ Merlin thought, wisely keeping his mouth shut just this once. “Morgana,” he answered. “She’s responsible for most of it.”

“Indeed.” He came back around to Merlin’s front and the servant willed himself not to step away from him. 

“But this was not Morgana,” the regent said, splaying his fingers against the burn scar on Merlin’s chest. There only remained a circle of raised, pink skin where there was once a light downy of hair, though it was low enough to go unnoticed in his usual attire. 

“No. It wasn’t.”

The regent didn’t press for an answer. He left Merlin’s sight again, and then those dreaded hands were on his hips. A warm body draped over Merlin’s naked back and the accompanying mouth began to leech on his neck. He gasped, shrank away from the touch, only to be held firmly in place. Solid finger tips dug into the skin of his waist and he had to bite his lip to stifle a cry at the new bruises that were forming. Merlin swallowed his fear. He agreed to this, and he needed to see it through. The guiding force behind him slowly walked him to the bed. His nerves flared as he was laid out facedown over the edge, but he let out a breath of relief when the mouth and hands detached themselves. 

The bed was dressed with the same linens as every other bed in these halls. He had folded and washed them countless times, as he would for as long as he remained a servant. Running the red fabric between his fingers, he could almost pretend he was just making Arthur’s bed. His hands fisted in the sheets, twitching and pulling like he would on his too-long sleeves—before his old tunics were replaced with the new form-fitting ones, that is.

He flinched at the sound of a belt being unbuckled. His face heated, a blush spreading to the tips of his ears. The warmth brought tears to his eyes; against his will, a few escaped, soaking the red linen underneath. The bed dipped slightly behind him and then a large hand found the space between his shoulder blades, shoving down until his cheek was pressed hard into the mattress, arms folding to pillow his face. 

The man leaned over him to whisper something crude in his ear, but Merlin could not hear it past the sound of his own heart beating. A wet mouth was suddenly at the sensitive junction where his neck and shoulder met and he shivered again at the unwanted touch, his stomach roiling perilously. The clothes he’d been provided would not cover all of the bruising. He didn’t know what he would tell his friends the next day. _They’ll know, they’ll all know, no one can ever know…_

To Agravaine’s shock, and much to Merlin’s own, he snarled.

_“Get off of me.”_

He tried to use his good shoulder to dislodge the man from his throat, only for him to latch on harder. The warlock hid his face in the mattress to mask the frustrated tears pricking at his eyes. 

Without warning, there were two fingers pressing against his lips. He shook his head desperately. Surely the man didn’t mean to use _spit_ for this. Another hand forced his jaw open, and Merlin fearfully did as commanded. He tried to avoid touching the fingers with his tongue, but the traitor seemed to be searching it out. They tasted sour and unclean, though considering who they belonged to…

Eventually, his mouth was freed of the probing, only for a wet fingertip to circle him. He tensed around it and sobbed.

There was a light chuckle. “And I was supposed to believe you didn’t want it?”

 _Want it?_ How could Merlin ever want this with a man who used his friends as hostages? _But,_ a cruel part of him thought, a part of him that would not be ignored, _you agreed to do it. It’s not as if you’ve never done it to yourself before._

He bit his lip against the conflicting thoughts. His friends were in danger, that was the only reason he would ever lay with the traitor. But despite that rationalization, he couldn’t shake the shame from off his back. This wasn’t his fault. _It can’t be, right?_ he thought, wavering a bit in his certainty.

The finger sunk into him, and his breath caught at the intrusion, eyes wound tightly shut. The man’s hands were larger than his own, and there was little to lessen the burning sensation. 

_It hurts, it shouldn’t hurt._ It was all that Merlin could think, the words sometimes escaping on a gasping breath. Too soon, the first digit was joined by another. He tried to squirm away, but the hand on his back only held him down harder. 

“I told you to stay still,” the voice growled. “It’s almost as if you want your family to stay rotting in the dungeons.”

Through the _wrongness, pain, shame_ of it all, he remembered what he was here for. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could begin a thorough search of the man’s chambers to find out what happened to Arthur, the sooner Gaius would be released from the dungeons, and the sooner he would lift the threat from Gwaine’s head…

He clenched his hands in the sheets beneath him. It was a small price to pay for their safety. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least try for them. _But how do I live with myself after?_

No longer caring what the man thought of him, he sobbed. _I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want any of it._ It didn’t matter if he was whining, or if the tears soaked the bedclothes beneath. Agravaine acted as if he was entitled to every inch of his skin and more. Merlin’s body no longer felt like it belonged to himself.

The intrusion left suddenly. He heard frustrated grunting from behind him, and then there were hands gripping his slender hips hard enough that the nails could draw blood. _Possessive, degrading, demanding, taking-_

And then there was a pressure, tearing him apart from the inside, rending the soft tissue. _Searing, splitting, excruciating._ He felt the slickness of blood, and he screamed. 

“I-it hurts. _Stop, please!”_

His pleas were thoroughly ignored. Again and again, he was pulled roughly onto his tormentor, agonized and weeping. As his body responded with conflicting pain and pleasure, his mind and emotions became overwhelmed. He felt the familiar thrum of magic just beneath his skin and, for the first time that night, he was grateful that his face was hidden in the sweaty bedcovers. If Agravaine had caught even a glimpse of his eyes, all of this would have been for nothing. The traitor, unfocused as he was, did not see the fire in the hearth jump a foot, nor did he feel the breeze in the room pick up, and the pelting of rain against the stained glass of his windows could be passed off as just a bit of weather. 

An older, deeper fear reawakened in Merlin. _No one can find out, no one can know, you have to control it…_

It sounded eerily like his mother’s voice, aiming to soothe but succeeding only in making him fear.

_‘They wouldn’t understand. You have to hide it.’_

She was ashamed that she had a monster for a son.

_‘I don’t want to see you hurt.’_

They would hurt him for how he was born.

_‘You’re special.’_

He was cursed.

Repressing his magic didn’t work, of course, and he didn’t fancy trying that again any time soon. It was like not blinking, or holding his breath: he was not made to withstand it, and soon enough it would burst from him in a powerful, uncontrolled surge—his eyes would clench shut, he would take a deep lungful of air, and the magic wound sing in his veins. It was as much a part of him as his blood and organs, and as deeply ingrained as the instincts and emotions it was attached to. He was made of magic, just as he was made of flesh and bone. He could never live without it, yet most would kill him for it. 

He had wanted nothing more than to be normal, so that the villagers would like him as much as they liked each other. He wanted human contact besides his mother, someone who accepted him as he was and wouldn’t fear him. As much as he loved his mother, he long suspected that loving him back was burdensome to her. He’d loved Will, too, and he knew that Will loved him back—had saved his life in more ways than one—but anything that Merlin had wanted to come out of their relationship was futile in the end. He found what he was looking for in him, a friend who seemed to care unconditionally, but Merlin forever remained the outcast, starved when the village’s rations were low, shoved and bullied when no adults were around—and sometimes even then. The only thing that could have saved him was the very thing he was suffering for.

Merlin would never belong in Ealdor. Even when he tried to reach out a hand in kindness, it was all too often stepped on. He was always skinnier than was good for him, never outside much for fear of being found out; when he was, it was to explore the caves in the forest with Will. Seeing as he was the only child in his village who wasn’t raised like a sibling among the rest, he supposed it made a sick sort of sense that they would choose him as their scapegoat. Will was an outcast, too, and together they tried not to care what the others thought, not that it ever worked.

Merlin had been called a bastard by some, a mistake by others, and he had licked his wounds to face the next day every time, taking each insult a little deeper into his heart. The village had stolen his childhood from him, but as he grew and gained more control over his life, he discovered the person who had been trying to break free all his life—a carefree, fun-loving boy who could make even a king with an iron fist stifle a laugh. He was proud of that. It was what he was robbed of when he was young and isolated, what he had seen the other children so capable of yet taken for granted. They had lost all such capacity for excitement and wonder, no longer seeing the beauty in the first sprouts of grass in the spring, just as Merlin finally had the chance to reach out and touch them. He had flourished when he met Gwen and Arthur, who seemed so taken in by his endless exuberance. They made Camelot a home in a way he’d never experienced before. Even Morgana, before she changed…

He retreated into thoughts of home and practicality, so lost inside his mind that he didn’t remember what was happening to him until it was over. His assailant laid them down together in the bed, the man’s broader chest against Merlin’s back. A sweat-slick arm was wrapped around his unmoving form, a hand splayed possessively over his waist. Merlin tensed, disgust and shame coiling up inside his every pore, before forcing himself to relax into the hold. He was aware of the drying fluids on the inside of his thighs, despite the fact that the man behind him remained in position. It was with a start that he realized Agravaine did not intend to move any time soon. The tears had continued even when he went silent, but now they poured from his eyes. 

“It hurts,” he gasped out as his vision blurred. _It was supposed to be over._ His shoulders were shaking, and suddenly he was struggling for the next intake of air. He tried and gasped and got little more than a wisp. It was too much, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t-

A mouth at his ear shushed him, a hand running over the subtle dip of his abdomen. It made breathing harder. Instead of rolling away from his victim, the man reached lower to grasp him in hand. Merlin felt nothing but disgust for himself, as his body and mind had not agreed with each other on how to respond, though he knew it should be directed at his assailant.

“Please. Please let me go,” he begged, no longer caring about pride or dignity. _Get it out, get off of me, stop it_. The arm only wrapped tighter around him, and the hand continued. He gasped and, to his great shame, found that the unwanted touch had worked. He hadn’t wanted to, he didn’t want anything to do with the traitor. Why did his body betray him? He couldn’t even control his own body, his destiny, his thoughts, his wants…

The traitor finally removed himself, but instead of letting Merlin go, he pulled him tighter against his chest. Just as the breath returned to Merlin’s lungs, the heartbeat pounding against his back steadied into a rhythmic sleep. The man was passed out, his servant still held captive in his arms, and Merlin wasn’t strong enough, was too hurt to move, to get away from him. He tried to pull himself away, but he didn’t make it far and only ended up hurting himself more. The pull on his shoulder left him fighting for air again. Biting his lip against the pain, he reached for his magic, but it flitted away from him—his magic was ingrained deep in his subconscious, and he was more than aware that the man could wake at any moment. He was more afraid of getting caught than of the man himself. 

Consumed with fear, he could not utter any spells to get his breathing under control, so he simply laid still and tried to calm himself. His choked sobbing teetered off into quieter moans and whimpers. He was afraid of Agravaine, even when the man was _asleep,_ so afraid that he couldn’t end his ordeal just in case he woke.

 _Tomorrow is a new day,_ he told himself. This would all be over, and he would never have to think back to it again. He could save Arthur, save Gaius, he could save them all. 

Finding some resolve, despite everything, he fell into a dreamless sleep and waited for the morning to prevail. He was awakened by a hand tenderly caressing his cheek, but when he opened his eyes, it was not to Gaius watching over his fevered ward, or to Gwaine’s smiling eyes as he so often dreamed, but to the lined face of his tormentor looming over him. Merlin feared the weight on his ribs would break them. As soon as the traitor knew Merlin was awake, he began a repeat of the last night’s events. This time, Merlin did not cry. He was in pain, and he was tired, and he felt dirty, inside and out. He couldn’t fight the truth, the filth, the _shame_ back any longer. He laid still and prayed to the Triple Goddess for Arthur back, and for his pain to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t be afraid to read and review


	10. What Happened?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin’s traumatized state does not go unnoticed, but he resists help, too afraid of implicating any more people for Agravaine to lock up or execute. But there is one person who Agravaine has underestimated the importance of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied non-con and aftermath + unwanted touches

The regent dressed and left the room without a word, leaving Merlin feeling used and alone in the soiled sea of red pillows and linens. It was bright out this morning, but the tinted windows let only a dim light through. That was well enough. Merlin did not want to be seen.

He made an agonized effort to sit up, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath, until he could make it onto his feet. It seemed that no matter how he stood, the pain bludgeoned him from all sides. His legs, which felt as if they were only following half of his commands, collapsed under him. He fell to the ground by the bed, landing on all fours, and forced away the cries that tried to make their way out. As tempting as it was to stay in that spot and never move again, there was more than one reason he was in Agravaine’s chambers.

With a huff, he used the nearest bedpost to pull himself back onto his feet. His clothes were still discarded in the center of the room, but before he could even think of putting them back on, he needed to wash up. He spotted a pitcher of water and a rag near the bed and, checking that he was truly alone, willed them into his hands from where he stood. He made quick work of the mess on his inner thighs before pulling on his clothes as hastily as he could without aggravating his shoulder. 

Looking around, he remembered the night he had snuck into the room on Arthur’s behalf, expecting to find the books on sorcery in the same spot as last time. There were many places that Agravaine could have hidden them. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure they were actually gone. Checking once again for another’s presence, he incanted, and all the cupboards in the room sprang open. He flinched at the sound, though it was not loud enough to rouse suspicion to anyone Agravaine may have had guarding the door. The chest the books were stored in had been large enough that Merlin knew it would be instantly apparent in any of the cupboards, and so he shut them all with a disgruntled wave of his hand. There was always the off chance that the man was enough of an idiot to leave it hidden in a dresser drawer, anyway.

Merlin winced with every step he took towards his destination. He walked with a limp, to his dismay, but it was not far, and he thought he was able to quell some of the pain if he moved in a certain way.

He sagged in relief when he made it to the dresser, and then sprouted right back to life when he opened the first drawer to find exactly what he’d been looking for. At least he could count on Agravaine to be predictably terrible at hiding his schemes. He pulled the chest out, ignoring the sensation of needle pricks it sent through his shoulder. 

If Arthur had disappeared as a result of some spell, the answer might lay in these books. He could have laughed for joy at the thought of ending this nightmare. Wrapping the chest in one of Agravaine’s plain white tunics, he chose the least crowded route back to his chambers, hoping Agravaine would be appeased for now. The bleeding had stopped at least marginally, or so he hoped. There would be no way to explain any spots of blood if they appeared before he could make it back to his room, and the last thing he needed was for Camelot’s rumor mill to follow him through this.

He let out a laugh mingled with a sob when he finished the painstaking journey to the physician’s chambers. _What a ridiculous number of stairs. Surely they could have built outward instead of upward._ Nevermind that. He could just crash into his bed and forget the events of the past night and morning, and Gaius and Arthur would come back, and Gwaine would stay safe, and Gwen could take her throne.

He opened the door, prepared to find it unlatched, but not to see the man he’d only just escaped sitting before the cot that his mentor now rested upon.

Two heads, one a welcome sight and the other the source of his worst fears, swiveled to take in his arrival.

Merlin kept his eyes pointedly on Gaius, returning the reluctant smile his uncle offered him. He would not look at the poorly disguised sneer on Agravaine’s face, though he unfortunately still had to listen to him speak.

“Merlin! You’ve finally decided to join us,” he said jovially and, to Merlin’s growing discomfort, the smug man slipped an arm snug around his waist. Merlin was forced practically cheek to cheek with him.

“Gaius is back in the comfort of his own home, as you can see. His services are needed too greatly, suspect or not. I suppose he has you to thank for settling my mind on the matter.”

“Indeed,” Merlin responded in a hard monotone, waiting for Agravaine to remove the arm. Instead, his hand began to rub rhythmically at the small of Merlin’s back, making the warlock’s hairs stand on end.

“I only hope you can prove to me once and for all that neither of you is guilty. It would be a great relief to narrow down the suspect.” 

He was practically smirking with his eyes, so the glare Merlin shot him should not have come as a surprise. Agravaine’s face betrayed him, though, and Merlin began to wonder just how self-absorbed a person could be.

It wasn’t that Merlin was ungrateful for Gaius’ swift return from the dungeons, but he knew all too well what ‘proving their innocence’ entailed. The regent’s wandering hand clenched tight over his hip bone, fitting against the hand-shaped bruises there, and Merlin had to repress the shudder that threatened to shake them both. 

When he glanced back at Gaius, the elder was looking between them with sorrow and horror in equal measures. So he figured it out, then. Merlin would just have to distract him to keep the focus off himself. He didn’t want to think about what Gaius knew every time he looked at him. He just wanted things to be normal again. Gaius was back from the dungeons, so why couldn’t they just go back to the way things were?

“I’ll leave the two of you to catch up. Merlin, you can have the rest of the day off,” Agravaine decided, taking his leave. Merlin watched him go and felt only a dull bitterness before turning back to Gaius.

His mentor stared at him as if he had no idea where to begin. Merlin would have to set the tone.

“Gaius,” he greeted warmly, trying to disguise the waver in his voice. “I see you made it back in one piece.” He set down the wrapped chest of books on the table, wondering how Agravaine hadn’t mentioned it. He smiled wide, in a way that people normally found endearing if not totally disarming; not for the first time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Merlin,” Gaius replied slowly, testing the name, as if he had never met the person standing in front of him. “It’s good to see you again.”

So Gaius was going to play along as if there wasn’t something unthinkable hanging over them. That was fine by Merlin. 

“They didn’t hurt you at all in the dungeons, did they?”

“Don’t worry about me, my boy. Just a couple of scrapes, nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Indeed. Would you mind retrieving some new bandages for me? We wouldn’t want them to get infected.”

“Right,” he agreed, and with a flash of his eyes, the bandages were sitting in Gaius’ awaiting hands.

Gaius gave him another once over before setting down the bandages. Merlin got the impression that he failed some sort of test.

“Why couldn’t you walk them over here?”

_Oh, hell._

“It’s easier my way,” he tried, but it fell flat.

“Merlin, would you mind taking these bandages back? I forgot I already changed them before you arrived.”

Sneaky. Merlin had to respect that. He took the bandages from Gaius’ hands, apprehension clear on his face. “Of course,” he said, and then stood there, unsure if he should do as he was told. He could always use his magic again, but Gaius would not let this go if he did so.

“Go on, we haven’t got all day.”

Merlin smiled shakily at his mentor, and then steeled himself for the short walk. He couldn’t hide his limp no matter how hard he tried. Unable to face his uncle, he put the bandages away, keeping his back turned. 

“Merlin…”

“It’s nothing,” he said, feigning a smile in his voice, and looking straight forward to hide his wince. 

“Merlin, what did you do?”

Not, ‘What did he do to you?’

_‘What did you do?’_

_What did I do, what did I do, what did I do?_ He had done what needed to be done, he thought, because he was useless to the people who needed him otherwise. 

He felt Gaius’ eyes on his back—pitying, disgusted, _ashamed_ —and Merlin’s voice cracked on his next word.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. I’m fine.” It was too choppy to sound genuine, but it needed to be said. He took a deep breath and turned around. “It’s going to be alright now.”

But that look was still in Gaius’ eyes, and he quickly cast his own down to stare at his new boots. He couldn’t look, couldn’t stand the thought of eyes on him, judging him, picturing the things that were done to him. He grabbed the chest off the table and made a hasty retreat to the safety of his room, covering his limp as best he could, and slammed the door shut behind him. Collapsing onto the bed, his breathing started to come quicker until his panic finally released itself. He put a hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs.

He didn’t want to be alone, not really, but he couldn’t stand the thought of eyes on him, or any touch, not when he could still feel the fingers digging harshly into his hips. He laid out on his side, facing away from the window, and folded in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. He just wanted Arthur back. He would be okay once he got Arthur back. He could get through this, for his king, for his friends, for Albion. What was a little pain and guilt compared to their lives, anyway? 

_Nothing new,_ he thought as he drifted off into a restless sleep.  
_________________________

Gwen was folding freshly-washed linens when she heard the news. She remembered this well, since she dropped them to the floor the second the meaning of the words came to her. The thought that she would have to redo all of her hard work did not occur to her until much later. 

She sped to the throne room to plead with Agravaine, but it was vacant except for a few of the knights. Luckily, Sirs Leon and Gwaine happened to be part of the present company. In unison, they turned to the sound of her heels clacking on the floor.

“Tell me it isn’t true.”

Leon bit his lip. “I’m sorry, my lady. I trust you’ve heard what Agravaine intends.”

She forced back a cry of despair. “He cannot just start executing innocent people! No one in the dungeons is guilty, it is he who has betrayed Arthur!”

“I’m beginning to suspect that you are right,” Leon said, though it did not make her feel any better. “I will do what I can to delay the first execution, but I’m not sure how much I can accomplish without getting arrested myself.”

“There has to be something we can do! Merlin has been around Agravaine constantly, he must be planning something.”

“Merlin was not here when he made the announcement.” She turned her attention to the owner of the voice. Gwaine’s words were barely audible for how low he spoke, but the concern rang clear.

“Agravaine never lets Merlin out of his sight,” she said slowly. “Why would he not be there?”

“Perhaps you can ask him yourself,” Leon suggested. “If he is not working for Agravaine, he is likely with Gaius right now.”

“I have to find Agravaine first. Somebody needs to convince him not to do this, and I’ve had luck doing so before.”

“You shouldn’t do it alone,” Gwaine said, pushing in front of Leon. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, Gwaine. Merlin needs you. You should go to him.”

“Don’t worry, Gwaine. She’ll be safe with me.”

Gwaine knew as well as Gwen did of Leon’s loyalty to his true king, and that extended to his queen. He gave a tight nod before leaving for the physician’s chambers. 

Gwen hooked her arm in Leon’s, as it was a small way in which the walk to Agravaine’s chambers could be made easier. Busy servants swept out of their way, a treatment Gwen was not yet used to, but it shortened the journey by almost half of the time it would usually take, even at their hurried pace.

Leon knocked on the door three times successively. “Enter,” an unbothered voice came. The knight opened the door wide, and Gwen took a deep breath before stepping through the threshold. 

“Ah, Guinevere,” Agravaine said, looking up at her with mild surprise. “What brings you here today?”

“My lord, I wish to discuss the matter of the execution tomorrow.”

The traitor set down his quill. “You disagree with my decision?”

“I believe the prisoner deserves a fair trial.”

“I appreciate your concern, Guinevere, but there is no argument to be had. Druids cannot be afforded any leniency with the law.”

A Druid? She hadn’t known that. Leon’s expression told her that he was not informed of it, either. 

“Even the Druids deserve a fair trial before the court. This could be nothing but a misunderstanding. You may be sending an innocent person to their death.”

There was a soft but rough sound, like teeth grinding, before the traitor turned to address the erstwhile silent knight. “Sir Leon, what do you think of this?”

“It does no harm to be certain, my lord.”

Agravaine’s eyes hardened. “Of course. You shall have your trial in the morning.”

Gwen hid her small grin, proud that she had at least bought this person time, and curtsied. “Thank you, Lord Agravaine.”

The smile he gave back held none of the sincerity of Gwen’s own, but that mattered little as long as there was one less danger to her people.  
_________________________

When Merlin awoke, it was well past midday. He was surprised that Gwaine and Gwen hadn’t come looking for him yet, but they had lives of their own. Still, he wished for the friendly silence he could find with Gwaine, or the kind smiles Gwen gave freely. 

He eyed his room, sensing that something was different, before he noticed the vials that were set on the stand by his bedside. Gaius had come in while he slept by the looks of it. Merlin recognized the ingredients of the first one: a tonic for the pain, one that was prescribed frequently for lighter injuries. The other vial confused him, as it contained a gently working salve for cuts and abrasions. It was not as if he had fallen and skinned his knees.

Only when he tried to adjust his legs did he realize what it was intended for. He grimaced, but there was nothing for it. The last thing he needed was an infection to set in or, gods forbid, permanent damage. But first, he needed a bath. He eyed the corner of his room, where his bucket from the previous day sat, and decided it would do. With a quick spell, an herbal steam was rising from the surface of the old water. He pulled up a stool, shed his clothes, and began to wash.

The heat relaxed his muscles, which he hadn’t realized were so tense to begin with, and the water cleansed his skin of the other man’s sweat and saliva. For the duration of his bath, which consisted of just the leaky bucket and a frayed washrag, he could pretend that it had all been a nightmare that he would forget about as soon as he woke up fully. Until then, he was content to make patterns of flowers and woodland critters out of the water, little bits of life that he’d seen on hunting trips with Arthur. He always hated those trips, but he would have given anything to be out there with him right then, away from the castle, away from Agravaine.

When the water grew tepid once more, he realized it was time to dry off and use his treatment. He gasped as he stood, holding onto the wall at his right so he wouldn’t fall into the bucket and soak his floor. There was a towel on the other side of the room, which he brought over with a flash of his eyes. He dried off and applied the salve in less time than he thought he could. Perhaps he had learned more in his years as the physician’s apprentice than he’d originally thought. 

Goose flesh rose on Merlin’s arms, forcing a shiver out of him. He eyed his blue outfit dubiously, instead opening his wardrobe to take out his night clothes. They were worn and stained, but they were the only clothes that Agravaine hadn’t forced him to replace. His old tunics and beloved neckerchiefs were in the same chest that his new uniform had come in, tucked safely beneath his bed where Agravaine would not see. He fell face-first onto said bed once he was clothed, tangling himself into his blanket until he was comfortable. 

Sleep eluded him after his earlier rest. He wished the memories would do the same. It would be many hours before the sky grew dark and the pain faded. He needed to focus his mind on something useful, but there was not much in his room to distract him besides his whittling. That would only sink him deeper into foul memories.

At the end of his bed sat the chest he’d snatched from under Agravaine’s nose, and inside was an assortment of books on sorcery. He sat up, careful of his injuries, and pulled the chest closer to him. It unlocked with barely a thought. 

This probably wasn’t what Agravaine meant when he said Merlin could have the day off, not that Merlin cared. 

The books were arranged in a different order from when he looked through them before, which suggested that Agravaine was making use of them over the past fortnight. That was a good sign to Merlin. The answer to Arthur’s disappearance could be on any of their pages. 

Flipping through the first book brought nothing relevant to Arthur: it mostly consisted of healing charms and spells to increase longevity. He wondered why Agravaine would bother with this information if he was only out to learn more about Emrys, but perhaps there was something else he was missing. The next was more of a leather-bound journal than a book. It was an easier read, though it mostly waxed poetic about sacred grounds and location spells. It would have been far more interesting to Merlin if he did not have his mind fixed on something so specific. He set it aside to keep looking, but a knock on the door made him jump. 

He looked at the banned books spread out across his bed and, with a few panicked words, had them all shuffling back into the chest. It locked with a soft ‘click’ just as the door opened.

“Merlin? You home?”

“Gwaine!” he said breathlessly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Gwaine, perceptive as ever, asked, “Are you okay?” as he came closer.

“Better than ever,” he said, arms outstretched. “Why, is something wrong?” Changing the subject worked on Gwaine sometimes, but it seemed the knight’s concern won out over anything else.

“What’s that on your neck?” he asked, gesturing to his own throat like a mirror image to Merlin’s own.

Merlin ghosted his fingers over the bruises there. He had completely forgotten about them. “Those… have been there.”

“Really? Because they look new.”

“Well, they’re not.”

“Where did you get them?”

“I, erm… don’t remember.”

Gwaine raised an eyebrow at Merlin’s flimsy excuses. “Did Agravaine do this to you?”

“No! I- I tripped and I fell and-”

“Merlin, please, drop the act. You don’t have to lie about this, not to me.” He sat down in front of Merlin, but Merlin moved out of his reach.

He threw his hands up, as if in surrender. “I just want to make sure he didn’t do any irreversible damage.”

“Damage?” Merlin asked, cocking his head. “Irreversible?” 

“I’ve seen many wounds in my time, Merlin, and that includes the ones left from strangling. Some men never speak again after having their pipes crushed.”

“Right,” Merlin said, relief rushing through him. Gwaine thought he was strangled. He supposed he could see how it looked like handprints around his throat. 

Gwaine must have taken the sag of his shoulders for acceptance, as he took Merlin’s jaw in his hand and carefully turned his chin this way and that. Merlin clenched his eyes shut at the touch that would normally make him shiver with delight. 

“You know, you get into a lot of trouble for someone who hardly leaves the palace. Or, I suppose, trouble finds you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, his discomfort melting away with Gwaine’s attempt at conversation. “Just lucky I guess.”

“I’ll bet no one really appreciates that you’re here at all.”

“Thanks.” Merlin managed to sound both offended and amused. 

“I didn’t mean it like that! You’ve had a few near-misses with death is all.” 

“So have you! You got stabbed about five minutes after I met you.”

“It was more than that. Had to have been at least ten. Come on, turn around so I can get a better look at these.”

Merlin did as Gwaine asked, though it was a slow and painstaking process. But eventually, he had his back to his knight, who took advantage of the new angle to massage around his neck and shoulders. 

Gwaine’s smile had been glowing before, but now it faded and left something somber in its wake. “The closest I’ve ever come to losing you was the Dorocha, but I know it’s happened more than once. There is such a thing as too selfless.”

“Yeah, well, Arthur would never let me die anyway. He’d have no one to polish his armor or torture with his laundry. Have you ever been up close with one of the king’s socks?”

Gwaine scrunched his nose up. “I don’t aspire to it.”

“I’ve had to go minutes without breathing just to be near one, nevermind a whole load of dirty clothes.”

“Your life is a hard one.” The knight clicked his tongue. “I do not envy you.” 

“I don’t see why we even need knights when I could just lob one of his socks at Morgana’s face.”

“Hey, we knights have feelings, too. And plus, what happens when she throws it back?”

Merlin scoffed, as if Gwaine’s criticism was somehow more ridiculous than his own. “She’d faint before she had the chance.”

“I don’t understand why Arthur doesn’t let you plan all of our attacks. You clearly have a talent.”

 _A talent indeed._ “I don’t think Arthur would ever see my talents, even if I boasted of them from the highest turret.”

“I think he already has, even if he doesn’t admit it. You make him happy.”

Gwaine’s hand travelled up to play with the spot where Merlin’s hair curled over the back of his neck. It was cut close to his scalp, but had grown out enough to reclaim some of its wavy texture. He forgot what it felt like to have fingers carding through his hair like this. It was bliss, and more than ever he was glad that Gwaine was the one doing it. 

Until he felt another’s hands in his hair, his knees on a cold stone floor, red linens that didn’t quite hide the blood; he tensed, shifting away before he could help himself. Gwaine, for his part, appeared unoffended.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said with his cheeriest lopsided smile.

Gwaine stood from the bed and walked around it until he was in front of Merlin, kneeling on the edge of the bed. 

“Look at me,” he said, splaying his hand out wide. Against his own common sense, Merlin leaned into the touch. His chin was turned side to side again, but this time Merlin saw a deeper scrutiny in Gwaine’s eyes. He shut his own so he would not have to face it.

The hand went rigid, and then left his chin altogether. “These marks are from teeth, not nails.”

Merlin’s breath hitched. He had naively hoped Gwaine would not make the connection, but it was apparently too plain to miss. When he opened his eyes, Gwaine’s gaze was steadily fixed on him.

“Who did this to you?”

“What? Nobody!”

“Merlin, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but there is no reason to protect someone who attacked you.”

“It’s not him I’m protecting, it’s you!”

He clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening with shock, but it was too late to take the words back. 

“Wh-what?” Gwaine asked in a voice laced with horror.

“He could have you thrown in the dungeons and executed with a few words! He threatened to do it to Gaius, and I can’t- I can’t-”

His breath was coming too short now, thick and wet with unshed tears. “I can’t lose you, too. I can’t. I won’t. Please don’t go after him.”

“Merlin? Can I hold you?” 

He could not speak, and so keened out what he hoped came across as a ‘yes.’

“Come on, breathe with me,” Gwaine said, pulling the servant close to him so that his raven-haired head rested on his chest. “Do you feel the rise and fall?” he asked, taking a few deep breaths. Merlin nodded wordlessly, embarrassed at the wet spot that was forming on Gwaine’s livery but unable to close the floodgates. “That’s it. In, out, Merlin.” 

Gwaine’s arms were around his shoulders, surrounding him with a warmth his own body never seemed capable of maintaining on its own. He sunk into the embrace, and the sobs withered down into sporadic sniffles.

Eventually, his breathing calmed and Gwaine pulled away, thumbing away the tears from Merlin’s cheeks. “That’s better. I won’t go after him if you don’t want me to.”

“Really?” he asked, daring to hope that Gwaine would listen, but too used to his wants being ignored. 

“I’d do anything for you, and I mean that.”

It was true, Merlin knew it was true. Gwaine had followed him into the Perilous Lands, and they hadn’t known each other half as well then as they did now. And now…

Merlin sniffled again. “You’re too good to me.”

“No, Merlin, I’m really not.”

“You should go.”

“Do you really want to be alone right now?”

 _No._ “I think so, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Gwaine looked like he wanted to say something more, but seemed to change his mind. “Goodbye, Merlin.”

Merlin watched him leave with regret, but he needed to return to what he was doing before the interruption. It was starting to get dark out earlier, and so Merlin lit a few candles before unlocking the chest of books again. 

It was only when he felt a strain in his neck that he realized how many hours he’d been crouched over its contents. The few candles he had lit earlier were mere stubs, and he could see now that the wicks were nearly burnt out. A dozen books, and he’d found nothing that could help him to understand what was done to Arthur.

Or maybe he _had_ found something. He appraised the journal from before with curiosity. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but… 

Flipping through the pages, he located one of the many passages that had caught his eye early on. It was a simple but powerful scrying spell, one which could be used to find anyone from a lost child to some of the minor deities of the Old Religion. 

Arthur definitely landed somewhere between a child and a deity. 

It required only water—he still had the bucket of bath water from earlier, thank the gods—and a few herbs he knew Gaius had laying around. He tried to repress the hope that was swelling in his chest, but if he could find Arthur… 

It was worth hoping for, wasn't it?

With a short trip into Gaius’ workroom, which was surprisingly vacant, and one spell to release the herbs’ properties into the water, it was ready to be performed. He hoped that the dirt in the water wouldn’t affect the outcome of the spell, but if the contaminants were an issue, he should be able to tell right away. The journal only had one vague line about possible side effects, but it was in regards to scrying for non-human entities. Unlike most scrying spells, this one would show the enchanter what the subject saw and heard and felt, and therefore could overwhelm or cloud the mind of the seer. Powerful magic always came with a risk, but Arthur was only human. According to all the knowledge he had available, Merlin could perform the spell safely and efficiently.

He looked into the water, seeing only his own face reflected on the surface. He looked scared… and excited. Seeing Arthur again, after almost two weeks, was enough to cheer him, even if he knew he would not like the condition he must be in. But if he could look through Arthur’s eyes, there had to be something in his environment that could clue Merlin in to his location. 

He took a deep breath.

_“Forpgeseon bútan mín íwan.”_

And then there was nothing. 

He did not feel his body crash to the floor, or hear the sound of it hitting hard stone like a blunt object. His senses fled him entirely. He was aware, but there was no sight, no sound, no feeling. He was empty, and decided this is what death must feel like—to lose all touch with the world he so loved to be a part of. He could not be alive if he could not feel his own heart beating, though he had no proof that it had ever existed. Minutes, hours, days, years could have passed, for it made no difference in the place where Merlin found himself, before his eyes opened to a blinding light. He quickly shut his eyes and wheezed when the air hit his lungs, prickling on its way down his throat, though his body rejoiced at the fresh relief of it. 

Slowly peeling open an eyelid, he realized the light that burned his eyes like a brand was nothing more than the soft glow of one of the candles in his otherwise dark room. Dusk had become night while he was unconscious—if ‘unconscious’ it could be called. 

He propped himself up on his arms and looked back into the water. He saw only his own tear-stained reflection. 

The spell must have worked. He couldn’t think of another explanation for what he’d seen. 

If that was what Arthur was seeing… He had felt _dead._ There was no other way to describe it. And if Arthur was dead, gods, how could Camelot be salvaged then? Agravaine would rule unchallenged. The traitor would never release his hold over Merlin or Gaius. 

A part of him could not even fathom the thought of Arthur gone forever, no matter what he’d seen. Arthur was more than Merlin’s king—he was his friend. Merlin’s life more or less revolved around keeping him safe. It was his responsibility. And to fail his friend so spectacularly… 

Losing Arthur was a nightmare of its own, but Arthur’s death being Merlin’s own fault? It was unthinkable. And yet, Merlin could not help it when the grief and guilt sank into his gut and invaded his very essence. He was useless, even with all his magic. Lancelot was wrong about him. He wasn’t brave, and he certainly did not deserve to be called Arthur’s protector. 

Merlin curled up where he lay on the floor, unmoving, and cried himself back to sleep. He dreamt of nothing.  
_________________________

In another place, untethered from the restraints of time, a young king twitched into wakefulness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Merlin is really going through it. In other news: who would have expected the plot to ACTUALLY progress??? Not I. We’re going to launch into some Gwen content soon now that Arthur has been vaguely referenced, so hold onto your hats. 
> 
> The spell loosely (emphasis on LOOSELY) translates to “To see without my eyes.” It’s a meme spell.


	11. Trial and Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is in place, or so Agravaine thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: _*works on Will Challenge fic and then realizes it’s been more than a month since I updated this*_ whoops. Sorry folks. But, expect Will fic in a couple months. **Warning for implied non-con.** Don’t take any medical advice from this, I’m winging those scenes.

The trial for the Druid did not go well, from what Gwen heard. Agravaine hadn’t exactly specified the time of the trial when they spoke, so by the time Gwen had finished her morning chores, it was to the news of the upcoming execution. 

When Gaius’ empty cupboards brought her to the marketplace, she had no choice but to pass by the pyre that was being constructed in the courtyard. She kept her eyes downcast as she fled the sight, but still it seemed to be sewn into the backs of her eyelids. An innocent person would die—in needless agony—as an example of the sovereign’s strength. Morgana’s short-lived reign nearly two years prior had been no different; and, though it was treason to think it, Uther had implemented the same acts of violence, even if his were more sporadic and cushioned by the promise of safety.

The accused, Druid they may be, must have been innocent—Agravaine had just picked an easy target to justify such a swift execution. It was as simple as that. 

Arthur wouldn’t have executed someone just for being a Druid. He’d grown, become more sure of himself through the years, learned to listen to his heart instead of his father. He had to, ever since the responsibility of the entire kingdom was thrust upon his shoulders in Uther’s wake. He’d shared his fears and doubts with Gwen, sought her wisdom—not that _she_ called it that—and respected her advice.

Gods, Arthur… If being with her king had seemed impossible before, she could barely entertain the thought now, for every time she thought of his smile—the one meant just for her—and the way his eyes softened when he gazed upon her, the tears would come again. It couldn’t be helped: Arthur was in danger, anything could be happening to him, and there was no way of knowing. So many times, she’d had to drop what she was doing with some flimsy excuse just to find a private place to let the tears fall. The other servants would send pitying glances her way, most of whom knew or suspected the truth. It was hard to meet their eyes afterwards.

But today, she had important business to tend to. Having just finished serving one of the nobles her lunch, Gwen arranged a portion of the food from the market on a plate she’d cleared from the table. The guards in front of the dungeons allowed her to pass, seeing nothing out of the usual. Camelot had a lot of prisoners. Surely Agravaine wouldn’t wish the innocent to starve alongside the guilty… or so she’d let the guards think. She couldn’t be expected to read that man’s mind, after all.

The Druid would not be hard to find. A death sentence typically granted solitary confinement until morning. And the more Gwen saw of the people who were packed into the cells, the more she believed it to be a blessing in this place.

She found the right cell in the end. What she didn’t expect to find was a familiar face.

“Lark?”

The same Lark who she helped to brew ale on Thursdays, who gifted her with fine thread and yarn for her embroidery, who would always stop to smell the flowers Gwen picked no matter how much it made them sneeze? 

The bartender peered through the iron bars upon hearing the familiar voice. “Guinevere? Is that you?”

 _“You’re_ the Druid?”

All went silent, disturbed only by the sound of rough nails drumming a pattern against the cold metal between them. “I’ve committed no crimes against Camelot, Gwen. Please, do not take me for someone I’m not.”

Gwen shook her head fervently. This was someone she knew, right? Nothing could change the past, that much Gwen knew. Lark had been a Druid all along, and still remained genuine and kind. “It doesn’t matter now. I came down here to help you escape.”

Their eyebrows drew together, head tilted as if they’d heard wrong. Gwen was sure they hadn’t.

“You’re going to get me out in the middle of the day?”

She put a hand over Lark’s to stop their nail-tapping. It was getting out of hand, no pun intended—although on second thought, Lark might appreciate that one. But this wasn’t the time, nor the place. 

“Of course not. I’ll have the keys to your cell by tonight. Whatever Agravaine means to prove by this, it isn’t right.”

Lark looked up at her then, moisture in their eyes. “Thank you, Guinevere. You’ll be an excellent queen one day.”

She smiled shyly, before her brows scrunched in confusion. How on Earth did Lark know about—oh yeah. Tavern. Gwaine. She’d have to talk to the knight about secret-keeping. 

“Rest now. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

_____________________________

Agravaine raised his goblet with a nod, a silent summons for his wine to be refilled. Merlin obliged with shaking hands. The sky was beginning to darken, and there was no telling what the man would do when the rest of the palace went to sleep. 

The warlock used to associate the night with freedom, for the public eye was a shackle and chain to his magic. Likewise, the darkness brought him safety. In his dreams of burning at Arthur’s hand, it was always with the dawn that the guards took him to the pyre; but now it was the sun’s descent that felt like sand draining from an hourglass, or the drumbeats before the axe falls. Behind him, the bed loomed like a shadow, a tangible threat. 

He’d spent much of the day cleaning the sullied sheets from _that_ night, the stench a constant reminder he couldn’t seem to snap out of. He poured his assailant’s wine as best he could, pointedly ignoring the liquid that sloshed over the rim. But when the man pulled him down to whisper in his ear, Merlin lost his composure. A gasp passed his lips before he could catch it, and the pitcher of wine went crashing onto the table with a resounding clang. Merlin’s lungs stilled. The room was drenched in silence, only disturbed by the trickle of wine that spilled to the floor as it thinned into a line of small droplets. The physician in him found it eerily reminiscent of blood. 

He ducked his head, hunching in on himself as if it would make him any smaller, but the gracious servant act wouldn’t save him from Agravaine’s scorn. The regent’s whispered words had gone unheard: there was only the unwanted touch on his arm, strange and familiar in the worst way, and the grate of Agravaine’s voice close enough to feel his warm, sticky breath, until he was finally able to discern one clear command through the commotion.

“A cloth, _now!”_

That was reasonable, Merlin supposed, but he hadn’t quite recovered enough to respond beyond a quiet whine. Agravaine heard, unfortunately, and took it as a slight against him, if the hand fisting itself in Merlin’s scarf was anything to go by. 

“I expect you to do as you are told,” he said, reaching forward with his other hand to work at the knot that kept it tied. It was all too much like the night before last. Merlin’s skin prickled, and before he knew what he was doing, he was slapping the man’s hands away. Agravaine managed to loosen the tie anyway and proceeded to use the precious neckerchief to mop up the mess on his lap.

Merlin’s neckerchiefs had been banned when he was given his new wardrobe, but he couldn’t be seen without one, at least not for a few days. In a small act of defiance, he’d paired his red scarf with the black uniform that morning, tucking it underneath the collar. Agravaine hadn’t said a word, though Merlin felt his gaze on the back of his neck for the duration of the day. He was grateful for this small mercy at least. No one but Gwaine had noticed the markings on his neck, and he planned to keep it that way. But now that his neck was exposed again by the same hands that violated him, he was hit head-on by the reality of what happened.

“Insolent boy…” the regent continued to mutter under his breath, but the rest was lost to Merlin. A quivering moan escaped him, the pitch high enough to be taken for a sob. He couldn’t help it; he was afraid, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. So much of his life was spent bound by destiny, but he hadn’t backed down from the belief that he could change things for the better—pursue the destiny he wanted for Arthur and Albion. This was different, or perhaps it was alike to his destiny in a way he was not yet ready to accept. There was nothing he could do except to hope and wait for better days. This was his life until Arthur’s return.

 _If he ever does return._ He shuddered, as if it would wrack the doubts from his mind, but he couldn’t dismiss the damning thought. If he was to somehow bring Arthur back—if Arthur was still alive—then he had no idea where to begin. 

When Agravaine finished soaking up the wine from his clothes, he made to replace the neckerchief, now wet and weighted, but stopped before it reached the servant’s bare neck. Merlin watched his expression turn inquisitive as he admired the bruises there. Slick fingers brushed over the indents, a short nail catching on a spot where the skin was broken by his own bite. Merlin tried not to wince as the scab was prodded at, but could not suppress it when the man’s fingers came to a rest on his jaw. He tried to turn away from the touch, only for Agravaine’s other hand to catch his opposite cheek, the fingers spread out like the bars of a prison cell to possess as much of Merlin as possible. 

And then, in perhaps the greatest mockery of all, the man forced Merlin’s head into a bow. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, only to feel a kiss pressed to his hair. Before he could open his eyes, the damp neckerchief was tied back in its place, sending a cold shudder down his back. He stumbled away from Agravaine’s hold, a budding question in his eyes. 

“I do not wish to punish you for your mistake, dear boy. There is no reason this should not be good for both of us.” He pulled Merlin in by the end of his scarf, like a rabbit on a snare. The servant had no choice but to let himself be walked forward, or else lose his footing and fall into the other man. He soon regretted his choice when the older man leaned in to capture his lips. His breath caught in his throat, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the onslaught, waiting for it to end. 

An end came, only to be followed by the very thing Merlin had feared would take place again.

 _No, it will never end,_ he thought helplessly as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. _Arthur is beyond my help. It’s my fault, and I can’t stop it._  
_____________________________

It was the warning bells that woke them. Merlin turned his head back to peer at Agravaine, but the traitor seemed unsurprised, if a bit perturbed. How interesting. He’d heard rumors of a looming execution, but figured that he would know if Agravaine had actually planned one. He supposed if he looked outside, there’d be a pyre all ready for tomorrow. Perhaps Agravaine hadn’t wanted him to interfere—or rather, the one Agravaine took his orders from. 

Merlin turned around to face the man, only to lay eyes on the spot where the keys belonged. There was nothing to be seen. He hoped that whoever had stolen them did so before he’d brought Agravaine his dinner, and not while he slept in his bed. The thought of someone seeing him like this…

Best not to linger on that. It was probably Gwaine. He’d visited earlier, said something about checking in on him, and then left in a hurry before Merlin had a chance to return the gesture. He wouldn’t be surprised if Gwen put him up to it, in all honesty. He closed his eyes, at peace with the memory of Gwaine’s cheeky smile. That must have been after the knight managed to distract him long enough to swipe the keys.

And he would have fallen back to sleep, and Agravaine would have forced him far closer than he wanted, if it weren’t for the next interruption. In fact, Merlin would have taken the former over the latter if he’d had the choice. But there was too little warning before the doors to Agravaine’s chambers burst open, and in stormed Sir Leon.

“My lord,” the first knight addressed the regent, who was now scrambling to tie the laces of his breeches. Merlin sank deeper into the mattress and did all he could think of in the moment: he pulled the blanket up enough to cover the scar on his chest, and avoided eye contact.

“Merlin! What…” He could tell the moment that Leon understood what he’d walked in on, as it was punctuated by the sound of a sword being drawn. 

“Agravaine, tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

The man in question, though only half-dressed, managed to raise his chin at the knight. “That’s no concern of yours. I suggest you sheath your weapon and leave while you still can.”

Merlin glanced up at Leon from beneath his lashes, but at the anger reddening the other’s face, he quickly drew his gaze back to the bed covers. Unfortunately, his frightened composure only compelled Leon’s anger. With a resounding battle cry, the knight charged.

Neither of them had seen Agravaine draw the sword from his bedside. Leon was sent sprawling to the floor before he could land a single blow. The blunt end of Agravaine’s weapon glistened with fresh blood.

“Leon!” Merlin was out of the bed, fixing his breeches so that he was decent, before kneeling at his friend’s side. He worried his fingers through a dark spot amongst the man’s curls before finding the wound Agravaine inflicted. His hand came away wet. 

He turned back to the traitor, the searing rage overwhelming any fear he held. “What have you done?”

Even Agravaine appeared nervous, as though he’d been caught in the middle of a bluff he couldn’t talk his way out of. 

A soft groan drew their attention back to the knight. “He’s coming to,” Merlin said, though he did not know why he felt the need to inform anyone—probably just a habit he’d picked up from the years of being Gaius’ apprentice.

But Gaius would approach his patient slowly, put a cup of water to their lips, ask them questions to be sure they didn’t have a concussion. Merlin didn’t have time to react before Agravaine drew the blunt end of his weapon down on Leon’s head a second, and then third time, until the knight’s eyes closed once more. Merlin held him in utter stillness for a moment, before reaching out a shaking hand.

“L-Leon?” He put his fingers over the pulse point on his neck. Strong, alive. He sat back, unsure of what would happen next, and afraid of finding out. 

Agravaine disappeared behind the bed for a moment, only to return with the belt he’d discarded earlier. It didn’t make any sense to Merlin’s addled mind until it was being looped around Leon’s wrists. 

“Wh- he’s unconscious! What’s he going to do, drool on you?”

Agravaine scoffed, as if _Merlin_ was the unreasonable one. “When he wakes, he won’t exactly be calm, will he?” 

_”If_ he wakes. You need to let me treat him, please.”

The regent looked about a second away from rolling his eyes, but seceded. “Go collect whatever supplies you need from Gaius’ chambers.” He didn’t need to ensure Merlin’s return, not while Leon’s life rested in his hands.

Merlin left through the servant’s entrance, but even then, navigating the halls discreetly was difficult with so many guards about, searching for the escaped prisoner. But he knew the palace well—better than the guards, he’d wager—and it wasn’t long before he made it to Gaius’ chambers. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

“Merlin!” Gaius exclaimed. Four heads turned to look at him. He thanked the triple goddess that he’d remembered to put on a shirt. 

“I- um. Hello.” He waved at the onlookers, before resting his eyes on Lark. More specifically, at the tattoo on their collarbone.

 _You’re a Druid?_ he asked experimentally.

Lark’s eyes grew wide, but they returned the mindspeak through their shock. _Are you also a Druid?_

 _No._ He walked past Gwen and Gwaine, who were looking at him like he’d just come back from the dead, to grab the ointment he needed. _But I am a friend of them._ What else had he needed? Oh, smelling salts. He nestled the supplies in the crook of his arm, before surveying the shelf for anything else he was missing. With a contented sigh, he continued his mindspeak with Lark. _They call me Emrys, haven’t exactly figured out why. You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?_

He went to reach for some bandages when he heard a thud, and then various feet clattering to the spot where Lark had apparently fainted. 

“It must be the exhaustion,” Gaius said. Merlin pursed his lips. They were already waking again, and it would be better to make his escape back to Agravaine’s chambers while everyone was still distracted. Merlin still wasn’t sure that this wasn’t a strange, realistic nightmare, but he wasn’t going to take any risks. Leon needed him. 

No one heard the door shut behind him as he snuck out of the room. When he was close enough to Agravaine’s chambers, he broke into a run. He needed to check on Leon’s condition as soon as possible. There was no telling what damage the regent had done.

He burst through the doors with the ointment in hand, to an apparently empty room. He wracked his mind for an explanation before he heard a strained grunt from the far side, where Agravaine’s changing screen was. He walked towards the sound, steps small and careful as a lone, unprotected deer, though this time it was not he who was in danger.

Leon was sat upright, though his body was slumped like a carelessly tossed bag of grain. Fearing the worst, Merlin set beseeching fingers to the large vein in his neck.

He sighed when he felt the first beat, but waited long enough to be sure. “He’s stable. We need to wake him up and treat his wound.”

The regent looked at him as if he had a sword to his throat. “Are you mad? When he wakes, he’ll go blathering to the knights about what he’s seen.”

 _“If_ he wakes! You didn’t just stun him! Do you really have no idea how serious a head wound like this can be, much less _three?_ He’ll be lucky if he remembers how to talk after this!”

Agravaine was staring down at Leon with more consideration now. “Then let’s hope he can’t.”

The response was a shock to Merlin, no matter how terrible the man who spoke it may have been. “No. No, you can’t mean that.” 

Merlin’s eyes were trained on Leon, but if he had looked up, he would have seen the way that the lines in Agravaine’s face smoothed over at the words. Even Morgana wouldn’t have implied that he was better than all this. What reason did Merlin have to think it?

Oblivious to the change, Merlin dipped his fingers in the ointment, massaging it into Leon’s first wound. “He has to recover. He’s going to be fine.” He gave Leon’s hand a tight squeeze before realizing he forgot to pick out bandages. He looked around for some alternative, and finally settled on Agravaine’s shirt, discarded by the bed. He tore three strips from it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I need something to slow the bleeding. You have plenty of shirts, you’ll be fine.” He tied the first strip snug around Leon’s head, parting the thick locks of hair. Leon winced in pain, but Merlin took it as a good sign. He may actually wake after all. The salts would certainly help, anyway. 

A minute later, and his fumbling with the salts awakened Leon fully. The first knight looked around the room wildly and unseeing, eyes as wide and dilated as the moon slowly waning through the window. Merlin left his side only to fill the goblet from earlier with water. Once back at Leon’s side, he tipped the cup so that the smallest trickle coated the inside of his mouth. He hoped it wasn’t too much: if Leon had a concussion, which was looking more and more likely, then the situation would only be made worse by the inevitable nausea. 

Luckily, Leon’s stomach didn’t seem to be afflicted just yet. However, when he tried to speak, he was met by a red cloth being tied around his mouth, effectively gagging him.

“My _neckerchief!”_

“My _shirt.”_

“That’s not the same! It’s not my fault you decided to knock him out and truss him up! Maybe if you’d locked the door before- before-” He faltered on his words. Behind the screen, Leon had a knowing look on the visible half of his face. _Gods, he knows._

Merlin directed his eyes down to his feet so that Leon wouldn’t see the shame in them, and then rubbed his forehead where an ache was beginning to take hold. “What the hell are you going to do?” 

A thoughtful look appeared on the regent’s face. “If I can’t kill him, then I’m going to make him disappear. And you’re going to help me.” 

“He’s Arthur’s first knight. How do you suppose you’re going to get away with that?” 

“Because Camelot won’t want him if they think he was involved in Arthur’s disappearance.” 

“No!” Merlin laughed, but it was a bitter, disbelieving sound. _“No._ I am not helping you with this, I’m getting Gaius.” 

“Come now. Do you really want the entire palace to hear about what you’ve let me do?” 

Merlin’s hand paused midair, spare inches from the door’s handle. “I didn’t _let_ you do anything. You took it.” But he had, hadn’t he? He’d wanted to keep his friends safe. He’d agreed to it. 

“You could have said no.” 

“And what would you have done if I’d denied you? Killed Gaius, killed Gwaine?” But still, he didn’t reach for the door. 

“If anyone finds out about Leon, they’ll find out about you.” 

Merlin turned on his heel. “Then they’ll know about you, too. You saw how Leon reacted. You’ll be killed.” 

“Then Arthur,” the traitor said, far too casually, “will die with me.” 

Merlin’s face must have shown his shock. So Arthur _was_ alive. But then, where…? 

He swallowed roughly. “What has Morgana done to him?” 

“Surely you’re not so naive that you would ask me that. Be a good boy and go back to the man who thinks he can be your father, yes?” 

Merlin didn’t know what broke through—whether it was the condescension, the insult to Gaius’ name, or the man’s smarmy face—but in the next second, he was grabbing Agravaine by the collar of his shirt. 

His voice lowered into a threat, and suddenly the inch in height that the older man had on him made no difference. “Don’t underestimate me, Agravaine, or you’ll learn that lesson the same way Morgana did.” 

Agravaine may as well have been frozen in time for the way he tried to school his features, but Merlin knew better. The regent was doubting himself—doubting all of his plans, everything that led him down the path that couldn’t fail him. He’d been so sure, but Merlin had finally knocked him from his high horse. 

He let go of the shirt and, with a final look at Sir Leon—who seemed to be watching the entire interaction with curiosity and more than a little fear—Merlin turned back to the door. “I’m going to bring Arthur back, and may the goddess be so kind as to help you then.” 

_______________________________

The problem with releasing prisoners at the dead of night was that, once in the palace, it was impossible to get back to her own home without being seen. Gaius offered her Merlin’s bed—a cot, really, though not much worse than her own—as he was surely staying in the antechamber of Agravaine’s room, but she turned him down. If anyone suspected that she didn’t come home last night… 

So Gwen began the short walk back to her home. Well, she wasn’t heading there just yet. She had hoped to find either Gwaine or Leon to escort her back. It wouldn’t do to be arrested for staying past a pointless curfew, but neither knight would have been able to offer it himself. Few other servants were up at this hour. 

But before she could decide on who to go to, a figure stepped out from an alcove before her. She froze, unsure if she should turn around, or if she was only imagining the threat. Not every lurking shadow was ready to jump out at her, after all. But as the figure approached, she realized her instinct had been right. 

“Ah, Guinevere! I was hoping to find you here.” 

“Lord Agravaine,” she addressed him with a stiff curtsy. “Can I help you with something?” 

“If it’s no bother, I was hoping you could tidy up my bed before I settle in for the night.” 

Settle in for the night? The sun would be rising in a few short hours. What had he been doing all this time if not sleeping? The warning bell had only rung about an hour ago, after all. 

In truth, she had a busy morning ahead of her and would really prefer to get home and sleep. But if the regent was asking her to do it, then she didn’t have much of a choice, did she? 

“It’s no bother at all, my lord. Shall I collect your clean bedding? I believe Merlin left it out to dry, but it should be ready by now.” 

“That will be fine. I’ll await your arrival in my chambers.” He smiled crookedly and then left her standing in the hall. She hoped there was no one in the kitchens to witness her pick up the chores for Merlin. 

The bedclothes were hanging on a line, still waiting to be collected. She quickly found a basket for them and made her way back to Agravaine’s chambers. Arms full, she shut the door behind her with a steady foot. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” she started, joining him at the bedside. “Why have you beckoned me for this task? Is Merlin otherwise occupied?” 

“I chose to send him home early tonight. He’s attended my every need throughout the day, after all, and I’m sure he wanted nothing more than to return to Gaius and rest.” 

Something about his explanation didn’t sit right with Gwen, but it seemed too trivial a thing to lie about. “Indeed, my lord. He is a very hard worker, if given the time to adjust.” She couldn’t help but put in a positive word for Merlin. Perhaps their regent would trust the servant enough to leave him unattended for longer periods. 

That was when she noticed the used bedding. If Merlin had been here, then why hadn’t he changed it that morning? Even more worrying, why had Agravaine not made _him_ do it? She grew more aware of the traitor’s deceptively calm presence behind her. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she reached over to collect the bedcovers. 

It was as she was turning the sheet over in her hands that she noticed it: a darker spot amongst the red. She squinted at it, but her mind didn’t piece it together until she saw the lighter spots, almost like… 

She spun on the man, cheeks heated. “What is this?” 

From the look on his face, he knew exactly what she was talking about. “I’m afraid that’s not your business.” 

“Then whose is it!” she demanded, despite the tremble in her voice. 

“None but my own… and my manservant’s, of course.” 

Gwen choked on the air in her throat. 

“M- No, not…” 

But Agravaine’s eyes showed the truth for once. 

_Oh, Merlin._

She had to swallow hard so she wouldn’t vomit on his floor, though she was sorely tempted to do so just to spite the man, who was coming closer until she was nearly cornered by the bed. With a strength she didn’t feel, Gwen raised her chin and looked him in the eye. The regent seemed taken aback, but it did not stop him from delivering the message. 

“It was not too difficult to figure out your involvement with the Druid’s escape, Guinevere. After all, it was only yesterday that you pleaded for their life.” 

_Oh, hell._ At least he didn’t seem to suspect the others. 

“But despite your betrayal, I am offering you mercy. As long as you can prove your loyalty to Camelot, you won’t have to worry over the business of my manservant. Have I made myself clear?” 

Indeed, the implication did not go over Gwen’s head. He’d done this to Merlin to control _her_ actions, and he would do it again if she acted out against him. What happened to Merlin… gods, she should have been more careful. This was all her fault. 

“Yes, sire,” she replied, turning away before he could see the tears running down her cheeks. 

She gathered the rest of the bedding, every stain burning itself into her memory, and left the room quicker than she came. The bed was left unmade, but Agravaine didn’t need a servant for that. 

As discreetly as possible, she dipped into a hidden alcove and dropped the basket. _It’s my fault, it’s all my fault…_ Falling back against the wall, she placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobbing breaths. The pain swelled in her chest rhythmically, a knife to her heart with every passing second. 

She didn’t know how much time passed before her mind cleared enough to think past her guilt. She needed to clean his bedding before the sun rose. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see it and suspect something was amiss. 

The kitchens were just as empty as they had been when she’d collected the clean bedding before. She rubbed her eyes one last time before getting to work, scrubbing the sheets with all her strength. They were long past clean by the time she left, skinned down to their bare fibers, the threads beginning to unravel. 

To Gwen, it was no different from the rest of her life: everything she touched eventually broke, and it was becoming clearer and clearer who the common thread was. How was she supposed to mend anything with hands that could only harm? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I bet no one remembers Lark >:) but they were the barkeep from chapter… errr, 4? 5? Who knows at this point. Anyways, I have this theory that Gwen has this amazing, sharp-witted commentary in her head at all times, but she can’t say any of it outloud because our ears are not worthy. 
> 
> Speaking of Gwen, yeah, she is not a reliable narrator. None of this is her fault, and she certainly doesn’t break everything she touches. She’s spent so much time helping people, even when it costs her, and now she believes all of that is wasted. And don’t even get me started on Merlin. Or poor Leon. They are not having a spectacular time right now.


	12. In Good Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Leon is not entirely present; the stakes raise for Merlin, Gwen, and Gwaine; and as always, there are secrets abound. Speaking of secrets, why is Elyan acting so strange lately?
> 
> In other words: Gwen knows a thing about Merlin, and Elyan knows the other thing about Merlin, but Merlin doesn’t know that they know the respective things about Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t know how to write someone with a concussion, so I just gave him my personality when I get high on my period. It can’t be too different, right?
> 
>  **Content warnings:** implied non-con, non-graphic bodily fluids (v*mit), new and improved methods of emotional manipulation, mentions of alcoholism/addiction

Leon blinked at the searing light. It had felt too bright in the dimly lit halls, where each candle appeared to burn like its own sun, but that did not compare to the real one shining in the early dawn. Even with his eyes shut, the light seemed to pass through his lids like a knife. 

Blind to his surroundings, he stopped to gather his bearings. The mornings had cooled significantly in the past few weeks as they drew closer to autumn. Though he could not see it, he felt the moisture of the heavy mist blanketing the forest floor. Beneath his feet, brittle twigs and leaves crunched in a way he’d always found satisfying, but now beat against his eardrums like the sound of steel on steel. An occasional chirp came from above him, but never too close. His captor didn’t seem to care how much noise they made. It was not as if anyone would hear. 

He supposed he should be grateful for the fresh air. The scarf he’d been gagged with had been wine-flavored, and his head was in no state to even attempt to understand why. 

He never did have a taste for wine. A little bit he could stomach, but the constant presence on his tongue had been nauseating. He’d quickly grown used to the rotten taste, but it had yet to leave his mouth entirely. The red cloth remained tied around his neck like a noose, pulled down beneath his chin, where the scent was still strong enough to waft into his face with the merest flutter of the breeze. 

The sword between his shoulder blades urged him onwards; he would have stumbled back onto the blade if not for the hand guiding him. He straightened his shoulders. The border couldn’t be much further now. Better yet, if he squinted, he could _almost_ see the path he was following. He laughed.

“What’s so funny? Anything you’d like to share?”

He frowned in what he guessed was Agravaine’s direction. Sure, he was being banished from the kingdom and framed for Arthur’s disappearance—though not his death, and he could only hope that Merlin was right about his return—but he couldn’t even see where he was going! Why wasn’t Agravaine laughing? This was funny. 

A sigh came from somewhere behind him. “Must be the head wound.”

A head wound? His hand went to the side of his head of its own accord, but his captor’s hand none too gently shoved it back down to his side. 

He didn’t remember getting wounded, but it would certainly explain the pounding ache under his skull. The only thing he did remember before waking was the sight of Agravaine and Merlin. At the thought, his fists clenched, hard enough for his nails to break skin. He wouldn’t mind using that fist to break Agravaine’s nose, but fate hadn’t been in Leon’s favor for some time now. 

He continued on, walking as instructed, only for a hand to roughly pause him in place. Now Leon was just confused. Agravaine wanted him to go forward, and now they’d stopped? What was _wrong_ with this man? If they were going to just stand still, they may as well have stayed in Camelot. Leon could have slept in.

Before he could take that thought any further, a soft shove had him falling to his knees.

“From this point forward,” the regent—he had a silly, forgettable name—said, “you return to Camelot on pain of death.”

 _Oh, right._ Leon chastised himself for forgetting. Arthur was missing, and Merlin was in danger, and he was being accused of treason. So, banishment then. They must have stopped because they’d reached the border. 

Before he could formulate a response, he fell face-first into the fauna below. He blew out a deep breath. Damned Agravaine. Agravaine, that was his name! _A foul combination of ‘aggravating’ and ‘vain.’_ That’s how he’d remember it from there on out. 

He heard the traitor huff. “Pathetic.” 

The smirk in his voice was enough to send Leon over the edge. “Indeed, you are,” he bit out. The kick he got in the stomach was well worth it. The bile that rushed up, though? _That,_ he could have done without.

It was all he could do to roll over so that he wasn’t lying in his own filth. The man— what was his name again? He had a way of remembering.… _Agriculture, egregious, archiving… Aggravating. Who named their child that?_ Aggravating was looking down at him as if _he_ was the one to be pitied. At least Leon wasn’t named after a bad personality trait.

He was going to say something to that effect, but when he finally looked up again, Aggravating was no longer stood over him. He wondered vaguely how long he’d been alone for. 

In the span of a blink, small fingers began peeling his bandages away.

“Aggravating?” he slurred out.

“Sorry. It’ll be over in no time,” someone answered. Leon groaned, but allowed the owner of the voice to continue their work. 

He blinked again and found himself staring at the ceiling of a dark tent, a ceiling which appeared to be swirling like the sea at storm. Had he slept through the entire day? Was he even in the forest anymore? Had he been kidnapped?

He tried to answer those questions for himself, but the second he lifted his head from the thin pillow he’d been laid out on, the world swiveled away from him, forcing him back down again. 

When he woke next, the roof of his tent was just as dark, though blessedly still. The memory of his exile was coming back in pieces, but those few crumbs alone were not enough to explain the bitter sickness in his stomach, or the heaviness of his heart. Or his location, for that matter. He began to inch himself onto his elbows to get a better look at his surroundings and found everything to be foreign yet recognizable in a most unsettling way. 

The fabric of the tent’s entrance parted, and in walked a stern, white-haired man who Leon thought he’d never see again. He greeted the familiar form of his savior with a wan smile. “That’s twice now.”

“Twice?”

“Twice you’ve saved me.”

The Druid squinted at him, his eyes searching. “You are the same knight we healed, before your prince had the audacity to steal one of our most precious artifacts.”

Steal? That was not the story Leon had heard, but perhaps he could settle this man’s mind. “You refer to the Cup of Life? It sits in the vaults of Camelot now. It is guarded as heavily as the king himself.”

“Yet he has also disappeared, has he not?”

There was little he could say to that, except to wisely divert the Druid’s attention to the more immediate matter. “Why have I been brought to this place?”

“In your state, you could not have survived long without our aid.” The man’s eyes crinkled almost imperceptibly. It was the closest he’d come to a smile in Leon’s presence. 

“Right, the- the head wound,” he remembered, moving to touch the aching spot on his head… and finding something much worse. _“What’s happened to my hair?”_

“We had to shave around the lacerations. It will grow back.”

Leon laid his partially bald head back on the pillow with a powerful groan. The Druid made to leave, but didn’t get far before Leon snatched his wrist in a grip much weaker than his usual might would have allowed.

“You saved my life, _again,_ and I don’t even know your name.”

“You may call me Iseldir, but do not thank _me._ It was not I who found you.”

Brow furrowed, he amended his request. “Then… please send my regards to the person who did.”

Iseldir tilted his head curiously at the former knight but nodded his agreement, and Leon was again left to stare at the ceiling until sleep greeted him once more.

____________________________________________

Merlin startled awake on a gasp, his dream following him even into the waking world. Well, _dream_ was a generous term. It had been nothing more than a memory of his failed scrying, a nightmare that seemed to recur every time he so much as blinked. He tried to shake off the empty feeling that accompanied the memory, but it held on with a fervor Merlin could not match, bleeding his heart dry like one of Gaius’ leeches. Gods, he hated those leeches. 

He stretched his arms above his head, wincing at the strain—his shoulder was still not completely healed, even after all this time. That would be more than a little concerning to Gaius… if he told him, that is. But the elderly physician had other concerns, and Merlin couldn’t bear to bother him with a minor injury he should be able to treat on his own.

With a frown, he pushed himself onto wobbly legs, almost knocking down the chair behind him, and rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. A book sat open where his head had lain, some texts about the historical significance of the Labyrinth of Gedref to… He squinted, skimming the page a little further. _The Labyrinth’s significance to Camelot’s tax incentive?_ It must have been a dull read if he’d fallen asleep on top of it. He doubted that it bore any relevance to Arthur’s disappearance, anyway. Closing the book, he finally took in the late dawn light filtering through the library’s east wing. It took him a few moments more to comprehend what that meant.

He was late again, and if he didn’t show today, there was no telling what drastic measures Agravaine might take. He bolted to the regent’s chambers and entered unannounced, nearly skidding into the far wall. He blinked, shook his head, and blinked again. Leon was not where he’d been left last night. _Why in the hell would Agravaine have moved him?_

He dashed to the culprit, only knocking down one vase in the process. “Where is Sir Leon?” he demanded, rousing Agravaine with a none-too-gentle shake of his shoulders. He hadn’t expected Agravaine to move an entire knight on his own. Perhaps he should have stayed after he’d made sure Leon was alright…

Agravaine yawned, as if he had not a care in the world. “He’s been banished. He returns to Camelot on pain of death. Now leave me to my rest, or do you want to join him?”

Merlin’s eyes rolled skyward, possibly to find wherever Agravaine’s logic went. “You _cannot_ just _banish_ everyone who stands against you, or soon you’ll have all of Camelot to answer to.”

“You forget,” the man retorted with a tired smugness in his voice, “it is not Camelot I answer to.”

He’d hardly been in the traitor’s presence for a minute and already, Merlin was seething. “Trust me,” he snarled, death in his eyes, “I haven’t forgotten.”

Finally, Agravaine was awake enough to comprehend the weight of Merlin’s words. His eyes shifted to the table, where there was no breakfast waiting, and then he seemed to come to a decision. With a roll of his shoulders, he craned his neck to face Merlin and held his gaze as steady as a hammer.

“I don’t desire this any more than you, but you know as well as I do what Morgana is capable of.”

Merlin’s hackles rose, sensing more to that statement than was said. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, unable and unwilling to hide his suspicion.

The traitor stared him down, as if the answer should be obvious. “She’s a high priestess, Merlin. Do you know what would happen to Arthur if I refused her bidding?”

The anger faded, confusion quickly replacing it. “I- I don’t-”

“He would be left for dead, boy. That is, if she didn’t simply choose to kill him herself. For now, he lives. Does that not satisfy you?”

Merlin was lost. “I don’t understand. Is this not the reason you joined her?”

“Of course not! He’s my nephew, the only reminder of my dear Ygraine…”

_“Then why work with her!”_

“As charming as your naivety is, I fear it won’t be enough to keep your head on your shoulders. Or do you honestly believe that Camelot can endure by chivalry alone?”

A heat rose to Merlin’s cheeks at the accusation. He broke eye contact, crossing his arms. It did little to hide the slouch of his shoulders. “Make your point, _my lord.”_

“Need I say it? Her power is immense. Even the full might of Camelot and her allies could not hope to withstand her. If we want to keep Arthur alive, then some compromise is necessary.”

“But- but that doesn’t make sense! You betrayed Arthur, you framed Gaius, you _threatened_ Gwaine…”

“Not all is what it seems,” he said, finally sitting up straight. “I had no idea what Morgana intended for Gaius, but I promise I have done all that I have in service of Arthur. I could never diminish my sister’s memory by harming her only son. You must believe me.”

A wet sheen crossed the traitor’s eyes—well, ‘traitor’ no longer felt accurate, but Merlin wasn’t compelled to forgive and forget just yet. It was as the man gave the most minuscule shake of his head, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast, that Merlin recognized its meaning in the same way he’d recognize his own reflection.

Agravaine was grieving, and Merlin’s confusion was turned to shame. Once again, he’d underestimated how low Morgana could stoop. To take advantage of a man who had already lost so much and wasn’t willing to lose any more… Well, it was plain _cruel._

“But… Leon, why- why attack Leon like that?”

“I wouldn’t have him killed, though I see how you might think it. I truly did not believe the head wound would affect him so. But he practically lost his mind last night! You yourself tried to calm his nerves, but he was not willing to listen to reason. I couldn’t very well have him in the castle if he was out to kill me, could I?”

“I suppose not, but that doesn’t excuse hurting him.”

“Of course it doesn’t. You’ve no idea the regret I feel. However, if this does not go to plan, Arthur will die. Wouldn’t Leon want us to place Arthur above him?”

Merlin did not have an answer for that. He knew he would place Arthur’s life above his own, but Leon served Arthur as loyally as could be. He would walk into the mouth of Hell for Arthur, as he’d once put it. Regardless, the damage had already been done, and the only way to restore Leon’s place in Camelot would be Arthur’s return. But… there was still one part of this Merlin couldn’t make sense of.

“What about me? How does _that_ fit into Morgana’s plans?”

“Why, Morgana hasn’t forgotten how often you’ve interfered. She needs you incapacitated. The interrogations were meant to-”

“I don’t mean the interrogations, Agravaine.”

 _“Ah._ That, Morgana knows nothing of.”

As relieving as _that_ was, it did not answer his question. “Wh-” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Why do it then?”

“Surely that needs no explanation. Or do you seriously doubt yourself so?”

Merlin’s silence was answer enough.

“Why, it was _you_ who drew _me_ in! Standing in your presence is like laying in the sunlight. You are… special, Merlin. Not just in appearance,” —here, Merlin’s cheeks flushed despite himself— “but in your loyalty to Arthur, your selfless nature, your determination to help others. I would be a fool to put such a gift to waste.”

“A _gift?_ ”

“You are one to any who come to know you.”

The flattery was uncomfortably scrutinizing. It only served to further unnerve Merlin, for in the man’s eyes there was an unmistakable sincerity. Despite _everything,_ he regarded Merlin with a sort of admiration the servant rarely witnessed directed at anyone but Arthur. For Agravaine to be privy to _this,_ to see Merlin in ways no one else ever would… it was a violation of the deepest kind. He felt as if he was exposed, except this time his soul was stripped naked instead of his body. He did not want to share any more of himself with this man.

“And,” Agravaine continued, “it helps to… mend a wounded heart, if you will.”

The regent’s guilt over Arthur and Ygraine crashed back into Merlin like an anvil, and he remembered himself once more. He was not the only one suffering in all this. He couldn’t place his own comfort over theirs. What had he been thinking? 

“I’m sorry. I thought… but, it doesn’t matter. If you can help me get Arthur back, then we have a greater chance against her than you know.” His voice lowered, thoroughly softened in his compassion. “You don’t have to help her. You know it’s not right. If you can just…”

“If only it were so simple. I wish I could help you, Merlin, but…” Here, he laid his hand atop his servant’s. Merlin gasped at the contact, chastising himself for his skittishness. It was just a hand— _a hand that had been on him and in him and-_

A hand. Just a hand. It squeezed around his own like a vice.

“…I’m afraid there’s too much at stake.” Agravaine sounded resigned, and Merlin’s heart filled with sympathy, and perhaps the smallest tinges of guilt. “After all, what can a mere servant possibly do against a sorceress of her power?”

 _A great deal of damage, actually,_ but Merlin kept the thought to himself. “You’re the reason he’s missing, are you not? Morgana needed you. She _still_ needs you. She’s powerless without a traitor in the court.”

The regent just smiled sadly. “That is a risk I cannot take. Tell me, if you were in my place, with Arthur’s life in your hands every waking moment, would you really be so willing to endanger him for such a reckless endeavor?”

That, Merlin understood. But there was always a way. There had to be. 

He shook his head, breathing heavily. He didn’t think it would be easy to convince the man, but still, he had to try. If Agravaine bore no ill will towards Arthur, if he was merely bound by Morgana’s manipulations, then it was up to Merlin to help the only true family Arthur had left. And if it was the only way to save Arthur, then Merlin would stop at nothing to do so.

The slightest smirk played at Agravaine’s lips before settling back into a thin line of grim determination. Merlin cautiously slid his hand from the grasp. Its warmth lingered in the same way Merlin’s nightmares often did, but he did his best to ignore the stomach-churning sensation. He had to convince Agravaine that they stood a chance against Morgana, and he wasn’t about to let his own discomfort get in the way of saving Arthur or his last remaining family. When had he ever?

____________________________________________

The first thing that Gwen noticed was Merlin’s absence. She’d been hoping to see him, as much as she dreaded it, just to make sure he was alright… Although, she doubted he would want to see her just now. Not after last night, after being punished for her mistake.

She’d seen herself in the mirror this morning. The circles under her eyes, etched into her skin like permanent indents, and the sickly pallor of her skin were far too obvious to hide the fact that she hadn’t gotten any sleep again. Elyan had been alarmed when she came home last night, face wet and shoulders shaking, but she hadn’t explained it to him. This was beyond any secret of Merlin’s that Elyan had learned. 

Agravaine was sat upon Arthur’s throne, a strange mix of smug and anxious in every line of his face. At least, that’s what it looked like to Gwen. The man was playing with all of their lives like a bet he couldn’t afford to lose. If he sweat a little, then so be it. 

It was as she watched Agravaine that her heart decided to crawl up her throat, for Merlin had finally come in through the servant’s entrance, taking his place at the regent’s side. Knowing what had taken place between the two left Gwen feeling ill and disoriented all anew. There was little that would be obvious to the other onlookers, but to Gwen’s knowing eyes, every little twitch gave him away.

Despite forcing Merlin to stand at his heel like an obedient dog, he held none of Merlin’s focus. If anything, Merlin seemed hard-pressed to avoid actually looking at the traitor, instead searching the crowd for any familiar faces. His eyes met Gwen’s, and she found herself taking a step back, as if she’d been pushed with the force of that haunted stare. Leon was not here, strangely enough, or Gwen would have used his height to hide behind, like one of the many shields her father forged. 

Merlin cocked his head at her, his worry transparent, but he moved on, settling his gaze on someone a good distance away to Gwen’s right. She followed his line of sight to find Gwaine, who was peering back at Merlin with undisguised concern. Crossing through the crowd as quickly as she could—a litany of sorries falling from her mouth—she made it to Gwaine’s side, offering him a simple, “Good morning,” which lacked its usual luster.

That caught Gwaine’s attention. He turned to her now with the same worry he had for Merlin. _Merlin needs it more than I do,_ she thought, but refused to give away her true thoughts. 

“Good _afternoon,”_ Gwaine corrected.

“Oh,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I suppose it is, now, isn’t it?”

He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but the voice of the traitor interrupted whatever thought he was preparing.

“It is no secret that Camelot has fallen on hard times, and it should seem that each passing day only serves to further complicate matters. Hours into the night, a loyal guard of Camelot sounded the warning bell. It was revealed at this time that a Druid prisoner who was to be burned at the pyre had escaped.”

He stood from the throne, hands clasped behind his back, to pace before it. Each step the man took nearer to Merlin caused him to flinch, though he tried well to hide it from the room. But Gwen had known Merlin for years, far longer than Agravaine had… or anyone else in this room, for that matter.

“The Druid has yet to be recaptured. However, they did not escape on their own. I regret to reveal that a trusted citizen of Camelot aided in this act of treason.”

Gwen and Gwaine looked to each other in genuine fear. If she was to be accused, there would be no saving her. What had been the point of threatening her last night if she was to be executed so soon? To torture her with the knowledge of her friend’s pain, a pain she had caused? She shut her eyes, waiting for the guards to take her to the dungeons, to fill the cell she’d saved Lark from last night.

“Unfortunately, the guilty party was seen fleeing in the night.”

She gasped, opening her eyes, only to find that Agravaine was looking right at her. Gwaine stepped forward just enough that he could shield her from his gaze, but she could not peel her eyes from the regent. 

“Our very own Sir Leon has proven to be the culprit. He has made it outside the walls of Camelot and returns on pain of death. As of now, we will be extending further resources in search of both the traitor and the king himself.”

With that, he exited the throne room through the entrance Merlin had taken earlier. His servant followed like a tense shadow, so frail that one touch could break him. 

_Leon?_ He hadn’t been involved in the rescue at all to Gwen’s knowledge. 

She looked back to Gwaine to share in her confusion, but she only found the knight staring forlornly after Merlin’s retreating form, as if he wanted to reach out and take him away from here, to the far off place his mind went to sometimes. She understood the feeling all too well, but she needed Gwaine’s attention now. The knight had no idea just how much danger he was in. Pulling him away from the gathering flock of people, she took him into the hall and found a room she knew to be empty, surreptitiously pushing him into it. 

“Gwen, what is thi-”

“Agravaine knows of my involvement, Gwaine. Gods, I thought he was going to have me executed right then and there!” Away from the eyes of the court, she rushed into his arms, squeezing him tight around his middle.

A moment passed, and then Gwaine wrapped his own arms around her. “If he knew, then why accuse Leon?” he asked, soothing a hand over her back. 

“I don’t know, but I think Merlin does.”

“Then we have to talk to him.”

“No! I can’t talk to Merlin, it has to be you.”

“I can’t talk to him! Why can’t it be you?” But his eyes, ever-searching, noticed every detail she fought to forget. “Has something happened?”

She heaved a breath. So much had changed in just one night. “Nothing I can tell you, Gwaine.”

“No, what is it? It’s about Agravaine, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but-” Her face warmed over, scrunching into a sob. She put a hand over her mouth to catch it before it was too late, but the truth was beginning to leak from her eyes like the rain through her home’s worn roof.

Then, almost too quiet to hear, he asked, “You saw the marks, didn’t you?”

She looked up at him, surprise written on her face, but didn’t say a word. The knight mistook it for confirmation.

“I know what he’s been threatened with. I’m not sure how long it’s been going on, but I won’t let it go too far.”

Oh gods, Gwaine didn’t know at all. He thought it was only _threats._ If he found out what had already happened to Merlin, it would destroy him, and it would all be _her_ fault… How could-

_How can I expect to rule my people if I can’t even protect my own friends?_

Gwaine, unaware of the true cause for her change of manner, picked up the loose threads of what was already said aloud. “Merlin’s asked me not to do anything, but I promise I won’t let any harm befall him.”

She smiled disarmingly up at him. “I know you wouldn’t. It would be best that you speak with him. He misses your company.”

The knight before her blushed the color of his cloak. “Yes, I’m _sure_ I’m all he can think about right now.”

“I’m serious!” She crossed her arms triumphantly. “If you don’t believe me, then go find out for yourself.”

____________________________________________

Gwaine was told growing up that eavesdropping was unbecoming of him. He was told the same of gambling, and drinking, and committing arson, and bedwarming, but it had never stopped him through the years. Well, the drinking had been on a decline before coming to an abrupt halt, but that had more to do with Merlin’s concerns for his health than any moral obligation.

It was out of concern for Merlin’s health now that Gwaine quietly stood, ear pressed to Agravaine’s door.

“…Do you honestly think you’ll get away with this?” Merlin snarled in a disbelieving, muffled tone that Gwaine would have never associated with the usually whimsical serving boy.

“If you have half a care for Arthur’s well-being, then you had better hope they don’t question it.” 

Gwaine clenched his fists tightly shut as Merlin was sneered at by his abuser, taking in every word like a knife to the gut.

There came the unmistakable clutter of Merlin’s footsteps crossing the room, then his soft but stern cadence, far deeper now, so that Gwaine strained to hear it. “And if _you_ care so much, then you’ll stop taking your orders from Morgana.”

“You play the fool admirably, but I know better than to mistake you for one. It is not possible to defy the bidding of a high priestess. She could decimate the citadel with a mere thought…”

As their voices faded, Gwaine pressed himself harder against the wooden door. He should’ve guessed it would creak, old as it was. The room fell silent as the dead, and Gwaine realized too late that his shadow would be visible under the door. He bolted like a skittish horse and was already skidding into the adjacent corridor by the time the door swung open.

Catching his breath as soundlessly as he could, Gwaine peeked around the corner of the adjoining hall to see that Merlin and Agravaine had both stepped outside the room, searching for any sign of their unwanted visitor. When Merlin canted his head in Gwaine’s direction, the knight ducked back out of sight.

He had meant to catch Merlin alone after Agravaine left his chambers, but the hushed conversation had drawn Gwaine’s curiosity as much as his concern. He gave Merlin his word that he would not threaten Agravaine, but he wasn’t going to let any harm befall his friend, either. If he had to intervene, he could do so with the excuse that Gaius was in need of Merlin’s assistance. For now, though, he watched Merlin from afar. 

It wasn’t until later in the day that he worked up the courage to approach Merlin again. Luckily, the armory was empty except for the two of them. Gwaine only wished it was under different circumstances. Maybe one day they would sneak into the hidden recesses of the castle late at night where no one would think to find them… but it was wishful thinking at best, and more likely a selfish desire he shouldn’t even humor.

“Merlin,” he greeted with a liveliness he didn’t feel, causing the younger man to jump. 

“Gwaine! What are you doing here? Did you forget to put away your hauberk again?”

Ah, damn. It was still sitting in his chambers. “Just wanted to see if you needed help with anything. I know that you’ve been flooded with chores for weeks now.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but there’s only one cloth to polish with between the two of us, so unless you’d like to take turns-”

“Give it here,” he said, snatching it from Merlin’s loose grip before the servant could formulate a response.

“You’re just going to do my job for me?” Merlin stammered out, though he sounded… affectionately amused. It put a proud smile on Gwaine’s face. 

“You look like you could use a break.” He sat down, straddling Merlin’s bench. “Consider it a thank you.”

“For what?”

“You’ve really got no idea how much you’ve changed my life, do you?”

Merlin’s cheeks grew pink in his humility. He shook his head with the same self-deprecation as always, laughing as if it was one of Gwaine’s many jokes. “That’s all _you_ , Gwaine.”

“If I was doing it for myself, you’d still be dragging me home from the tavern in the middle of the night,” he responded easily, working at an especially stubborn smudge of dirt on Arthur’s breastplate. _Much use all this is,_ he thought, _seeing as Arthur’s not around to wear it._

He flicked his eyes up to Merlin’s face, careful not to seem too eager, only to catch Merlin staring intently at him. His hands stilled. For a man weighed down by so many secrets, there was an open honesty in Merlin’s every feature, nudging Gwaine gently towards the truth.

“How are you doing, Gwaine? I know it hasn’t been easy since you cut down on the mead.”

That much, Merlin had right. The past few months had been nothing short of loathsome, but after the scare he’d given his friends, the thought of just a pint was enough to flip his stomach on its side.

“I cut it out altogether, actually.”

“Gwaine, that’s- I can hardly believe it!” He smiled bright, uncontrolled. Gwaine had scarcely seen him so happy since Lancelot left them. “I’m so proud of you,” he finished, placing a hand on Gwaine’s thigh.

Gwaine laid his own hand overtop of it, fitting against him as smooth as a key in a lock. “I just don’t want to put you through that again is all.”

It might have been his imagination, but he felt the hand under his go cold, as if it were drained of its life blood. 

“You could’ve _died,_ and you’re worried about me?”

He always would be, truth be told. The rogue had always felt the need to put a smile on every face when he walked in the room. To have been the cause of his best friend’s tears had shaken him to his bones.

“You patched me up just fine, if I remember right.”

“That’s not the point! You’re _important,_ Gwaine.”

He couldn’t stop the scoff from leaving his lips. “You don’t need me, you’ve said as much yourself.”

Merlin studied him with warm consideration. “Do you really not see your worth beyond how you can please everyone around you? Gwaine, I _want_ to be with you. I just-” He bit his cheek, unwilling to say aloud whatever Gwaine needed to hear.

“You’ve said enough, Merlin, don’t worry. You’ve got quite a head on your shoulders.” _A pretty head with high-arching cheekbones and an adorable nose and long, shadowing lashes; a face framed by dark hair that tickled his ears and wise eyes that could see Gwaine in ways no one else ever did, but had yet to see what was right in front of them._ “Perhaps you should take your own advice.”

“What?” he choked out, taken aback.

Gwaine leveled him with a plain look. “Don’t pretend to value your own life half as much as you value Arthur’s. I’ve seen how willing you are to risk yourself for him.”

“But that’s different, it doesn’t mean I _hate_ myself!”

“Call it what you want, but you always put yourself last, and you usually don’t even think of your own well-being until someone else tells you to. Just once, don’t you think you deserve to be put first?”

“It- no! I mean, I don’t know, it’s just-”

“Complicated?”

“Yes!”

“If you want me around, then why haven’t you been acting like it?”

“Because I _can’t!_ It would only put you in danger, and I won’t do that to you.”

“Do you know what it did to me to see you near death from the Dorocha? Or to watch you suffer these abuses at Agravaine’s hands? You’re selfless, Merlin, to a fault. You’ll put me through all that grief, but you won’t let me take a risk I’m perfectly prepared to meet.”

“…I’m sorry, Gwaine.”

Gwaine sorely doubted that. He knew full well that Merlin would keep going out and sacrificing himself in lieu of a real solution.

“I am! Look, I know you can’t see it right now, but you deserve better than whatever you think I can give you.”

“I don’t _want_ better, I want _you_. If you think I haven’t spent every day and night since the Perilous Lands scheming a way out of every bit of trouble we might land ourselves into, then you’re wrong. I’ve seen every possible outcome, Merlin, and you’re worth the risk every time.”

 _“The Perilous Lands?_ Gwaine, that was nearly two years ago! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Gwaine’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. As if _that_ needed an answer… “I wanted to ask you to come with me, but I knew you’d never leave Arthur’s side.”

“I _would’ve…_ but I _couldn’t,_ and-”

 _“I know._ I know. I would never ask you to leave any of this behind. But I’m here now, and I promise that I’ve gotten out of worse scrapes than whatever you’re protecting me from. Just be true to yourself. Just this once is all I ask of you.”

Merlin hung his head, lids closing like curtains, blocking Gwaine off from seeing inside. When he raised his head, he tilted his chin up at Gwaine, eyes half-lidded. 

Then, in a move that left them both breathless, Merlin sprang forward and kissed him. Those slender fingers cupped Gwaine’s jaw like he was delicate, pulling him in, and Gwaine happily obliged. He drew Merlin closer by the waist, wrapping his arms around him like a rope, and decided that he would never let go of this feeling for the rest of his life. 

They broke away to catch their breath, and then dove back in, crushing their lips together with brutal passion. Merlin’s hand brushed over Gwaine’s cheek before settling on his shoulder, and Gwaine did his best to reciprocate the gesture, smoothing a hand down to rest at the small of Merlin’s back. It was bliss, calming and sensual, and not at all hurried like his trysts with the fading names and faces Gwaine met from town to town, where he’d be gone in a week anyway.

It was Gwaine who pulled away first, peering into Merlin’s eyes, taking in his flushed cheeks and swollen lips. He hadn’t been entirely sure it was real, in all honesty. Merlin’s other hand, still on Gwaine’s face, tenderly brushed the hair from his forehead, and Gwaine let his eyes fall shut at the sensation. 

Merlin’s hand suddenly receded, and Gwaine opened his eyes to see that Merlin’s cheerful blues had been drowned out by a torrent of thunder and lightning. 

“What’s wrong, Merls?”

“I love you.”

Gwaine blinked, unsure if he’d heard that right, with all the sorrow in Merlin’s voice as he said it. 

“I love you, too.” He’d wanted to say that for at least a year now.

“No, you don’t. You love who you think I am. If you really knew me— _all_ of me—you’d hate me.” His voice cracked at the end as he turned his face away from Gwaine, though not enough to hide the tears cascading down his cheeks.

“Merlin, look at me.” He waited until Merlin was ready, avoiding eye contact until he finished wiping his face. “I don’t know everything about you, but I _know_ you. You don’t have to tell me your secrets, because I already know how kind and smart and _noble_ you truly are. I’ll bet your secrets would only make you seem more so. And if you’ll allow me, I’d like to get to know you even better.”

“I… I need time to think.”

“Then I’ll wait for you.” Gwaine said it like it was the most natural thing on Earth. It was, in a sense. The trees shed their leaves until the warm season came back around, so many flowers only blossomed in the sun, and Gwaine would be himself again with Merlin in his arms.

Merlin smiled at him then, small but sincere. “I know you will.” 

When he reached for the cloth, long forgotten where it lay on the table, Gwaine swiped it from beneath his fingertips. “I’ve got this, you go get some rest.”

Merlin cocked his head at him. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Goodnight, Merlin.”

His… friend? No, his _beloved_ stood from the bench, stretching his back. Then, after a moment of apparent indecision, he leaned down to plant a kiss on his knight’s cheek. “Goodnight, Gwaine.”

Even after Merlin was long gone, Gwaine couldn’t help touching the spot where Merlin’s mouth had been. His own lips twitched disbelievingly, before splitting into a wide grin. He finished polishing Arthur’s breastplate with a newfound vigor. 

____________________________________________

Gwen was on her way to find Gwaine when a scrawny lump of servant came running from the direction of the armory, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Merlin!” she gasped, clutching at her racing heart. “You startled me!”

His mood seemed to change like the wind, from a wild panic to that look of resignation that had made itself a home in her old friend. She understood its source all too well. 

“Sorry. Erm, I have to…” he trailed off, pointing in the other direction and refusing to meet her eyes. In his defense, she didn’t put forth much of an effort to meet his, either. “I’ll just be on my way then.” 

“Wait!” she called, latching onto his arm. For the barest second, he bristled at the contact. Gwen would have thought she’d imagined it if it weren’t for the obvious compensation that followed. 

He smiled brightly at her, straightening his shoulders as if he was one of Arthur’s knights and not his manservant. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I… was just wondering how you’re doing.” She smiled warmly up at him, but she had a feeling it looked more like a grimace.

Merlin’s reaction confirmed it. “I’m fine, Gwen. I think I should be asking _you_ that.”

“That’s ridiculous, I’m… it’s fine.”

“Good. That’s good. I should probably get going, though…”

“Where to? I’ll come with you.”

He looked at her uncertainty. “To Agravaine’s chambers?”

At the words, her entire body went numb—except for her heart, which beat rapidly against her ribcage. “Do you have to?”

“I just want to make sure he’s properly prepared for bed is all. You, uh, don’t want to know what kind of mood it puts him in if everything isn’t perfect.”

“That won’t be necessary!” she rushed to say, and then winced at her own voice. This was not going well at all. 

But before she could explain herself, Merlin came to his own conclusion. He looked down the hall to Agravaine’s room with clear apprehension, and then back at her.

“Gwen, if you want company, all you have to do is ask. I know how hard it’s been, especially for you, but you don’t have to go through this alone. Come on.” He reached out for her hand, and Gwen took it with all due hesitance, the memory of his earlier flinch still fresh in her mind. But Merlin had initiated this touch, and he didn’t seem to mind it. She gave his hand an experimental tug and smiled at the squeeze she got in return. 

His assumption hadn’t been all wrong. She had done nothing but bury herself in work since Arthur’s disappearance. Even with Elyan back home, she felt lonelier than ever. 

“Would you mind just… staying with me tonight?”

“Of course! I mean, not at all. I don’t mind. You need me a hell of a lot more than Agravaine does. He can take care of himself for one night.”

He walked stiffly ahead, in the opposite direction of Agravaine’s chambers, and she finally released a long breath of relief. Merlin would be safe among friends tonight. 

The walk to her home felt longer than usual, filled by only idle conversation and a new, stifling silence they never had before all this. She wanted her friend to look her in the eye and to ramble on for all his worth. She wished she could do the same, but every time she tried to speak, her throat seemed to close against her will. 

But that was not to say that the silence was any less companionable for the lack of words. It was rare to be content merely being in another’s presence, though she was sure Elyan would inspire some talkativity.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so sure. 

Stepping inside, she was greeted with a warm hug from Elyan, which is why she knew the moment Merlin walked in. Elyan’s arms grew tense around her. His skin prickled under her fingertips.

“Merlin!” His voice cracked in her ear. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Gwen asked me to come over. I hope that’s alright?”

“Of course it’s alright. Why wouldn’t it be alright?”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed at him. “Are _you_ alright?”

“I am doing extraordinarily, thank you for asking. How-” He stopped to clear his throat, which rasped as if it had gone dry, and leaned awkwardly against a wooden pillar, in a way that was meant to appear casual but only made Gwen gawk. “How are _you_ doing?”

Something defensive took over Merlin’s posture, as if he’d raised an invisible shield. “I’m fine.” 

They smiled at one another, tight-lipped, for longer than Gwen could bear to watch. It would only get worse if she didn’t step in. “Alright, let’s get you two seated, and then maybe we can get dinner started.”

“Oh, I already ate-” Merlin began, but Gwen was pushing him into a chair already.

“I doubt you’ve had enough, Merlin.”

“Well, then I’ll help you make it. You’ve been on your feet all day, while I’ve been sitting still for almost three hours polishing swords.”

“Merlin, you really don’t have to-”

“I insist,” he said, standing to pull a chair out for Gwen.

“I- you,” she stammered, but he waited patiently to hear the rest, eyes locked on her the way she’d wanted during their walk together. “I don’t deserve a friend like you, Merlin.”

“That’s because you’re far better than me. Now let me make it up to you.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle shake before applying himself to the kitchen.

She watched him for a short while, an easy smile on her face as he prepared them a meal with hands more calloused than her own. Elyan also watched him, sweat beading on his brow. He tapped his nails on the table, then brought them to his mouth to bite at.

Looking to make sure Merlin was properly occupied, she leaned in close to her brother, who was seeming more and more like a stranger. “What is wrong with you tonight? You’ve been acting odd ever since we got here!”

“You’d be acting odd too if you knew what he’s hiding!”

In all her worry over Merlin and Arthur, she’d completely forgotten about Elyan’s recent discovery. “Oh, El, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad!”

“It’s not _bad,_ Gwen, it’s life-changing! And if he even suspects I know, then…” He shook his head, flinging his hands up in defeat. “I don’t know!”

Gwen chewed her lip, but it needed to be said. “Maybe you should just tell him you know.”

“I don’t think he’d appreciate that,” he replied humorlessly, a sardonic smile on his face. 

“You’d be surprised. Whatever it is, I can hardly imagine it would be easy to carry the weight of it alone. And, well…”

“Well?”

“Lancelot knew, right? And ever since… He hasn’t been the same.”

A thoughtful silence followed, during which Elyan rearranged himself in his chair no less than six times.

“Maybe you’re right. But Gwen, this is a lot bigger than you think it is, and I don’t want you getting dragged into anything because of me.”

“Then I won’t push for answers. But please, heed my advice, Elyan.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but nodded.

“It should cook for another twenty minutes,” Merlin announced, plopping himself down across the table from the startled siblings, “but it’ll be better than whatever half-assed meals Arthur’s tried to cook for you.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Elyan snapped back reflexively, and then his eyes widened, as if he’d somehow erred. But Merlin merely laughed it off.

“Arthur? Thinking? I highly doubt it.”

Listening to Merlin banter about Arthur, it was almost as if nothing had happened, as if Gwen would wake up tomorrow and see her love in the halls and sneak shy kisses in the shadowed alcoves. 

“Arthur thinks, but only of Gwen,” Elyan teased.

“Elyan!” she cried out in fake indignation, a smile already brightening her face. “I know for a fact that Arthur has used his brain for _at least_ two other things besides wooing me.”

“Swords?”

“Bullying?”

The remainder of the night was spent poking fun at each other and Arthur over their meal, before heading to bed for the night, their stomachs and spirits satisfied. Elyan had managed to get another mattress for himself some time ago, which he offered their guest. To no one’s surprise, Merlin refused it.

“I slept on the ground for most of my life, I think I can handle it for a single night.”

Gwen shut her eyes, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Did I ever tell you two what happened those few nights Arthur stayed over, right before our first kiss?”

“Arthur _stayed over_ before you even _kissed?”_

“Wait, you _kissed_ when Arthur was competing in the tournament?”

“You have to tell us everything!”

Gwen hummed her assent. “Arthur wanted to attend a tournament in disguise so he wouldn’t be given any special treatment as prince, and he promised to make me dinner. He’d just apologized for the meal _Merlin_ instead brought us—don’t look at me like that, of course I figured it out—when suddenly he was taking it all as seriously as I’d asked of him. It was as if the facade fell, like he was so afraid of losing my respect that he was willing to bare all his vulnerabilities to me.”

“And then you kissed?” Merlin asked from where he laid on his stomach, kicking his feet with his chin in his hands.

“Yes, Merlin, we kissed. And, just like you, he refused to take the bed again, even though I offered it.”

“Now _that,_ I remember well. He asked me to lug a whole mattress down for him.”

“Well, he woke up on sacks of grain, so I’m going to assume you didn’t obey that order.”

“Now why would I pass up a chance to make Arthur uncomfortable?”

It was enough for the three of them to break down into giggles again. Anyone who walked in would guess that they had spent a long night at the tavern.

“It was sweet, though,” she went on when they calmed down again. “He was always so open with his affection after that, as if he was realizing for the first time that he even _could_ be.”

“I’m glad you have his love, Gwen,” Elyan soothed from his bed. “He’s a good man, despite his cooking.”

“Yes, he is.” A nostalgic sigh escaped her. “I wish he was here with us right now.”

“I miss him, too.” Merlin said it in a whisper, curling onto his side under the blanket they leant him.

They lapsed into silence after that, falling to sleep one after another. The last sound to reach Gwen’s ears was of Merlin and Elyan’s breaths, evened out in a peaceful slumber. She soon followed, dreaming of an easy day ahead, full of stolen glances and secret smiles.

_____________________________________________

It had been all too easy to keep Merlin occupied for the remainder of the day. The boy seemed eager to prove his competence to Agravaine now that he’d eaten up this latest lie. He’d practically bounded to the armory to polish every sword in sight, despite the late hour. _It’s almost pathetic, really,_ he thought, opening the door to Merlin’s room with a deftness learned from decades of knight’s training. Stealth was necessary: he did not wish to explain his presence here if the old physician were to awaken any time soon. 

His research on this ‘Emrys’ fellow had come to an unexpected halt when he emptied his top drawer only to find his chest of books was missing. In hindsight, it was painfully obvious that Merlin had taken them. And of course, he’d meant to get them back sooner, but the past nights had been far too eventful to attempt such a feat. Now, though, with the servant back under his thumb, there could be no better time. 

He crept towards Merlin’s bed, careful to step where the furniture was settled. Despite his efforts, one plank creaked agonizingly loud. He winced, quickly removing his weight from the wood. In the next room, Gaius’ snores seemed to hitch before steadying once more. The regent’s shoulders slacked in relief.

Sinking to the floor, he used his nails to lift the edge of the loose floorboard. It came away with ease, revealing a spacious hollow, just as he’d suspected. The space beneath was not empty, however. He crooked his head, confused at his discovery. Why on earth would _Merlin_ be hiding a _book_ of all things-

His jaw snapped shut like a hunter’s trap.

A glance under the bed confirmed where his own books were, tucked inside the locked chest. In a haze, he replaced the floorboard and brought his belongings back to his chambers, though his arrival back did little to settle his mind. 

The chest nearly bounced off the bed from the force he’d flung it with. He stared the box down like a foe, patting down his pockets until the key was found. It took four tries to get it into the lock. When he managed to get the chest open, it was to the sight of a disordered stack of pages, bookmarked by rough strips of fabric and what looked to be at least one pressed wildflower. 

All those times his lady’s schemes had been inexplicably foiled by a mere servant’s meddling, Gaius’ strange association with Emrys… Agravaine had been wrong about the Fomorrah. Emrys had no informant. He didn’t _need_ one. 

He slammed the chest shut, locking it again with shaking hands, and breathed in deeply. 

There was no need for fear. Merlin—or should he say _Emrys_?—was his to use as he pleased. This could still work to his advantage. But, as for Morgana… well, Merlin had been right. It seemed there was a force in Camelot powerful enough to challenge a high priestess after all. The path to the throne was laid out before him like a map. All he had to do was follow it.

And to think that the vessel for such power had been standing in Arthur’s shadow all this time, and that the boy had melted at the touch of his fingers, had been so very _suggestible_ for him… He licked his lips, mesmerized by the memory of that first night. A sorcerer of the most immense power, all to himself… He would return to that memory tonight, while Merlin slept the night away, none the wiser to Agravaine’s heated thoughts.

But even that could not distract him from the greater mystery at hand. Where Morgana was hard-edged and snappish as a wild hound, Merlin had shown himself to be faithful and kind-hearted, even with Agravaine’s crimes against Camelot laid out before him. How could one person hold the power of life and death itself, yet remain as humble and naive as his Merlin? It was inhuman. Something about the boy had always fascinated him, but now he thought he knew the answer better than anyone, maybe even better than Merlin himself. 

With one last thoughtful look to the chest, he prepared himself for a restful slumber. The days ahead no longer spoke of unfulfilled dreams and bleak desperation, but rather the serene certainty that his ambitions would soon be met. It was clear now: Morgana needed Agravaine, but Agravaine no longer needed her. Merlin would be his—in body, mind, and spirit—by whatever means necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Agravaine sure likes to twist the narrative whichever way suits him, huh. Also, feel free to interpret “bedwarming” as “sleeping around” or as “Gwaine having a non-romantic dalliance with a royal or two.” Could be interesting for Gwaine to have that history in the context of this fic… but we’ll see. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry


End file.
